More Than Words
by little0bird
Summary: Ginny, Harry, Ron, and Hermione find themselves navigating a new challenge - adulthood.  Follows the events of "The First Day".  Features the rest of the Weasley family and the Holyhead Harpies.
1. Brand New Day

Ginny looked around the Great Hall in curious detachment. It was her last night as a Hogwarts student, and it didn't quite feel real. For one thing, the end of year feast was actually an end of year feast and not a funeral. The previous four had been akin to nightmares, hard on the heels of several deaths: Cedric, Sirius, Dumbledore… Then the battle…

This year, it seemed as if the students had heaved a collective sigh of relief. Aside from the usual bumps and bruises from Quidditch games, explosions in Potions or Charms, or random gash from a bowtruckle, the year had been relatively uneventful.

It was as boisterous as the one Ginny remembered from her second year. A group of boys whooped loudly from the Hufflepuff table, and Ginny caught McGonagall studying them with an odd, wistful expression on her face, before a rare smile curved over her mouth. McGonagall swirled the wine in her goblet, seeing the ghosts of students past, and friends long gone, before she gave a sketchy salute to only someone she could see, then drained the goblet.

Hermione stretched languorously, for once unencumbered by the stacks of books she seemed to carry around with her all the time. 'Heard back from Charlie yet?' she asked Ginny.

'Hmmm?' Ginny tore her gaze from its perusal of the Hogwarts Headmistress and gave Hermione a slightly quizzical look. 'Did you say something?'

Hermione rolled her eyes. 'Has Charlie written back to you yet?'

'Oh. Yeah. He sounded a little odd, though,' Ginny mused.

'How can you tell?' Hermione quipped. Charlie's terse letters were almost legendary.

Ginny's eyes widened. 'He said something about the two of us having dinner with a friend.' She pushed her plate away, and rested her folded arms on the table. 'George said something about some witch at the reservation, but I thought he was trying to pull a fast one on us.'

'Could be just a friend,' Hermione observed, toying with a spoon.

'Could be,' Ginny allowed. 'But Charlie's a bit of a loner outside the family. He must like her or something.'

Demelza slid into the seat next to Ginny. 'Right,' she breathed excitedly. 'You have to tell me everything about your try-out with Holyhead.'

Ginny frowned a little. 'You're not having a trial with Kenmare?'

Demelza shook her head. 'Fell through,' she said shrugging. 'They signed a reserve Chaser with more experience.'

'Bollocks to them, then,' Ginny sniffed.

Demelza brushed off Ginny's outrage on her behalf. 'It's fine. I'm not sure I want to play professionally.'

'Did you have anything else planned?' Hermione asked.

'I applied for a position with _Which Broomstick_. I'm the assistant to someone's assistant. Sort through their post, arrange their schedule, fetch tea… Your basic entry-level position.' She reached for an apple. 'Eventually, I want to test the brooms they try to sell to the Quidditch teams and review them.'

'Do they get a lot of those?' Hermione asked curiously.

'You'd be surprised,' Demelza replied, polishing the apple on her sleeve. 'Less than half of everything that's tested finds its way into Quality Quidditch Supplies. Most of what's tested goes into the version we send to Quidditch teams,' she said knowledgably.

'Why?' Hermione asked blankly. Quidditch was something she merely tolerated.

'Why…?' Ginny prompted.

'Why have a different version for Quidditch teams?'

Demelza chuckled through a bite of apple. 'Most teams provide brooms for their players. Broom manufacturers make different variations of the same broom for each position. Seekers' brooms are slightly more streamlined than say, a Beater's broom that has to handle the extra bulk of most Beaters. A Keeper's broom has elongated foot rests to make it easier to stand. Handles on Chasers' brooms are slightly broader. Speed's pretty much the same for all of them, but Chaser and Seeker brooms are a bit faster than the others.' Hermione blinked at the barrage of information. Demelza laughed, delighted at finally being able to rattle off more information about _anything_ than Hermione. 'Then, there are the brooms that are sold for general use, like school brooms. Racing brooms. Brooms for long-distance travel…'

'I had no idea,' Hermione said faintly. She'd never glanced at a _Which Broomstick_ longer than a second or two when Ron shoved one under her nose expounding on the virtues of a Cleansweep over a Comet. Being able to travel with the usual Muggle methods, as well as Apparition, had somewhat limited Hermione's knowledge of other means of magical travel. She did know broomsticks were used for routine travel, having used one to get from London to the Burrow two years ago, but the many alternatives where a hitherto unknown topic to her.

'Wow.' Ginny's eyes widened theatrically. 'We finally found something that Hermione doesn't know anything about,' she told Demelza in a hushed voice.

'Ha-bloody-ha,' Hermione intoned sarcastically. She glanced around the Great Hall, then took several long looks. Dinner was over, and their plates were replaced by trays of biscuits and pots of tea and chocolate. It looked as if the celebration would go on longer. Younger students moved among the tables, no longer feeling bound to sit with their respective Houses. Two tiny Hufflepuff girls dragged a surprised-looking Slytherin boy from his table and towed him to the Ravenclaw table, where a third-year student produced a wizarding chess set from his robes. A few Gryffindor students pulled out several sets of Exploding Snap cards and scattered amongst the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables. A few Slytherins joined other tables, but like the first one, only when cajoled or coaxed by another student. They seemed to not know what to do with themselves. Hannah skipped toward them and grabbed a handful of biscuits from the tray, then sat across the table from Hermione. Ginny began to beckon Luna to join them, but she was surrounded by a bevy of first-years, listening wide-eyed to her stories.

'Do you realize we've spent nearly half our lives here?' Hannah asked idly, pouring a cup of tea for herself. 'I've spent more time here than I have with my dad.'

'I think it's deliberate,' Demelza added.

'Oh?' Ginny took the teapot from Hannah.

'Well, think about it. When we leave here tomorrow, most of us will start lives on our own, live apart from our families,' Demelza said, with a nod toward Ginny. 'We've had to make our own decisions since the age of eleven, basically, then deal with the consequences.'

Hermione sat quietly, accepting a cup of tea from Ginny, and thoughtfully cradled it between her hands. She hadn't given too much thought about her living arrangements past school, assuming she'd live in Oxford with her parents for a few months while she got settled with her job with the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures in the Werewolf Support Services. Hermione wanted a break from being an adult, even if all it meant was that she slept in her childhood bedroom for a while longer.

'I can't wait,' Ginny declared. 'I'll finally get some space to call my own.'

Demelza shook her head. 'You're mad,' she stated. 'Playing professional Quidditch… It's not the easiest life for people without a support system at home.' Her head tilted to the side, as she twirled a lock of dark hair around a finger and studied Ginny. 'But I thought you knew that.'

'How is it any different from what we do now?' Ginny challenged. 'So you train four days a week,' she said with a shrug. 'Not much different than what we do now.'

'Not all day,' Hermione murmured.

'Don't forget – the professional leagues play three games a month from September until June,' Demelza reminded Ginny. 'We only play 3 games over nine months.'

'And we do have someone to organize our meals and sort through our laundry. Make our beds,' Hannah added.

'Pfffft.' Ginny waved off their concerns. 'Yeah. Hi. We can use magic.'

Hermione regarded Ginny with a sober expression on her face. 'I would think the prospect of being on your own like that might be a bit… well, scary…'

Ginny shook her head. She pointed to Hermione, then Hannah. 'Neither of you have brothers or sisters,' she stated, then turned her attention to Demelza. 'And you're the eldest. None of you have any idea what it's like to have someone constantly hovering over you. For the first time in my life, I will be able to make my own decisions without having to justify them to anyone but myself.'

'Regardless of whom those decisions might affect, hmmmm?' Hermione asked.

Ginny started a little guiltily. 'Harry will understand,' she murmured.

'You're sure?' Hermione persisted. Ginny's eyes dropped to the cup of tea in front of her and she hitched one shoulder in reply.

'You know what the life is like for a professional player, don't you, Ginny?' Demelza asked quietly.

'Of course I do,' Ginny snapped, slightly annoyed. 'Training six to eight hours a day, four days a week, then the game And training five to six days a week when you don't have a game that week. And the off-season training. So?'

'Do you want to get married, have a family?' Hannah interjected.

'Eventually.'

'Then you'll know most professional Quidditch players rarely marry or have children. Especially the women,' Demelza said. 'Or they quit playing at their peaks.'

Ginny sighed impatiently. 'Yes, I do. But I'm not even eighteen. I don't have to think about those things just now.' She reached for a biscuit and broke it in half. 'And I know it's a hard life, especially for women. I read the _Prophet_ and most of the time female players are viewed with more than a little suspicion, or they're thought to be licentious. And one of the main reasons I chose to sign with the Harpies is they're rarely in the paper or in _Quidditch Quarterly_ for any other reason besides their game.' She nibbled one half of the biscuit. 'Why do people insist on treating me like I don't know my own mind?'

'Nobody's doing that, Ginny,' Hermione soothed.

'Fine,' Ginny sighed. 'Now start treating me that way.' She let her shoulders slump a little. 'I don't see anybody questioning you lot for your decisions…'

'Fair enough,' Hermione murmured, well aware working for the Werewolf Support Service wasn't exactly a career choice that would put her in regards with most of the wizarding world. Most witches and wizards would have believed she didn't know her own mind, either.

XxXxXxX

Most of the other students had left, and only a few seventh-year stragglers were left, knowing there would be little time for prolonged farewells tomorrow. One by one, Demelza, Hannah, and Hermione drifted to their dormitories to finish packing or go to bed. Luna lightly skipped to the table where Ginny sat staring into yet another cup of tea. 'Trying to read your tea leaves?' Luna asked.

Ginny shook her head. 'When are you leaving?' she asked.

'In two weeks.' Luna propped her head in an upturned hand. 'The expedition is going to start in eastern Europe at the end of July, but the naturalist I'm going to assist with research wants me to get a head start.'

'Aren't you scared?' Ginny asked quietly.

Luna gathered her straggly hair in one hand and pulled it over her shoulder, combing her fingers through the candy floss-like strands. 'A little,' she confessed. 'I mean I'm leaving Daddy by himself, and there won't be anyone to look after him and make sure he remembers to eat meals…'

'Being by yourself in a group of people you don't know very well, if at all, doesn't frighten you?' Ginny snorted.

Luna's large eyes blinked slowly and she began to nod. 'Ah… I see. You can't really be alone.' At Ginny's bemused look, Luna continued. 'You can never really be alone, as long as you have your family – or at least their memories. One can always make new friends.'

Ginny's confusion melted into outright skepticism. Luna had always been quite comfortable living on the fringes of any and all cliques. 'I suppose…'

Luna steepled her fingers together under her chin, her elbows resting on the table. 'But this isn't about me.'

'Maybe it's not,' Ginny acknowledged.

'And you're supposed to be brave. Like all Gryffindors.' Luna's eyes crinkled with humor. 'There's nothing wrong with having a healthy apprehension of what life might bring you. It's not as if you've always known you wanted to play Quidditch and what to expect.'

Ginny took a sip of her tepid tea. 'It's the women,' she confessed in a hushed whisper. Luna's brows rose, making her look even more surprised than usual. 'Aside from you, Hermione, Demelza, and Hannah, I don't really get on with most girls. And when I dated Michael Corner, then Dean, then threw myself at Harry…' Ginny felt the flush creep up her cheeks. 'I heard the rumors. From other girls. I just don't have the best record with other girls…'

'It won't be like school,' Luna said hopefully.

'Familiarity breeds contempt,' Ginny shot back. 'It could be exactly like school. Or worse.'

XxXxXxX

The lamps burned softly in the quiet shop. The wireless played in the corner, the raucous sounds of the Weird Sisters filling the rooms. George caught Katie's hand as she passed, and drew her to him, twirling her in a ragged circle. She threw her head back and laughed, winding an arm around George's waist, their movements turning a bit suggestive, until Ron cleared his throat. 'Go do that at home, would you?' he sighed. Ron wearily rolled his head in a couple of slow circles, smiling blissfully at the loud pops it emitted.

George planted a smacking kiss on Katie's cheek, then released her, looking around the shop. 'Think we're good for tomorrow?' he asked Ron.

Ron nodded. 'Yeah.' He eased a hip onto the tall stool behind the counter, wincing at the pounding in his feet. 'I can't look at anything in here anymore,' he groaned. He glanced at one of the displays. 'I keep thinking I've missed something…'

George cast an expert eye over the shelves. 'Everything is… fine,' he pronounced. 'Not a bad job for your first end of school sale.' He prodded Ron's shoulder. 'You did a great job organizing all this, little bro.'

The corners of Ron's mouth tipped up. 'Thanks,' he said a little bashfully. 'Be nice if I could have a lie-in tomorrow, too,' he yawned, stretching his arms over his head.

'Get your own place,' George retorted.

'Uh… Speaking of that…' Ron suddenly sat up, alert. 'Could I have a quick word?'

'I'm happy where I am, Ron,' George intoned. 'Katie's a decent cook, and she can actually fold laundry with magic.'

'Thanks ever so, George,' Katie drawled, rolling her eyes.

George shook his hair from his eyes. 'I'm not sharing some scrotty flat with you, just so you can get out of the house,' he told Ron.

Ron flushed dully. 'That's not what I was going to ask,' he muttered. He took a deep breath and opened his mouth, but no words came out.

'Well, come on,' George huffed. 'Out with it.'

'I want the flat upstairs,' Ron blurted.

George's mouth snapped shut. 'I…' The words died in his throat. Ron looked so hopeful, but George couldn't answer him just yet. His whole demeanor changed, and he seemed to shrink inside himself. Without saying a word to Ron, George stumbled away from the counter and out of the shop into the swiftly falling summer night.

'Shite,' Ron hissed. 'Stupid…' He caught Katie's puzzled eye and shook his head. 'Not George,' he hastily corrected. 'Me.'

Katie's expression quickly smoothed into something less bewildered . 'Sorry,' she sighed. 'You're not being stupid.'

'I'm not?'

'It's wasted space,' Katie said softly. 'If it's not being used,' she added practically. 'Why do you want to live there particularly?'

Ron pushed the ledger books under the counter, and slid the stool back. 'It's convenient, for one. The cost of letting it shouldn't be too dear, and it's large enough for Hermione and me. If she wants to live there with me. And if she doesn't…' Ron shrugged. 'No matter.'

'Liar,' Katie scoffed gently. 'It will matter.'

Ron chuckled tiredly. 'Yeah, it will.'

She bit her lip, studying Ron. 'I'll talk to him.'

'Who? George?'

'Yes.' Katie waved her wand at the lamps, and they began to slowly fade. 'Go home and have a nice sleep,' she ordered. 'And I'll try and get George to see things your way.'

'He won't like it,' Ron cautioned.

'Of course he won't,' Katie agreed. 'But I don't intend to change his mind,' she whispered conspiratorially.

'Then why bother?' Ron huffed.

Katie smiled at Ron, with a faintly pitying sort of look about her. 'You ought to know. You can't change a Weasley man's mind.' She held the door open for Ron. 'He has to think it's all his own doing.'

Ron opened his mouth to protest, but realized Katie was right. Hadn't he meant to leave the shop after tomorrow? But no, he was making plans about what to do in the shop when students began coming in to get their things for school, what they could do for the summer hols, and how they could try and open a shop in Hogsmeade. And it had been subtle, so subtle, that even Hermione might not have noticed George carefully making Ron see that he was an integral part of the shop now.

Katie's laugh rang out in the quiet street. 'You see?' She lifted her hair from her sweaty neck. 'Don't worry. It might be December before George lets you live over the shop, but we'll get him to see reason.' She walked up the street to her building, leaving Ron alone in the middle of the street.

XxXxXxX

Harry attempted to lift Teddy from Ginny's arms, but they tightened around the toddler. 'Let me,' she whispered. She walked through the flat without tripping over the hearthrug or waking the baby and carefully walked into the small room on the other side of the flat. She laid him in the cot and stroked his wispy turquoise hair back from his face. 'I can't believe how much he's grown,' she marveled.

Harry's arm snaked around her waist. 'I can't either…'

They stood for several moments, watching Teddy sleep, then Harry softly tapped the lamp with his wand and it dimmed, leaving a bare glow in the room. He led Ginny from the room, leaving the door partially open. 'What a day,' Ginny sighed, propping her feet on the coffee table.

'What time did you tell Molly you'd be home?'

Ginny glanced at her watch. 'Sometime before dawn.' She groaned softly leaning back against the overstuffed cushions of the sofa. Her parents, Harry, Teddy, Bill, Fleur, and Percy met the train, along with Hermione's parents, and then spirited them off the Leaky Cauldron for a "welcome-home-from-school" dinner, where they met Ron and George. Ron and George swallowed their meals without tasting them, then rushed back to the shop. Hermione and her parents left, followed by Bill, Fleur, and Percy. Molly and Arthur left, taking Ginny's things back to the Burrow with them. Harry and Ginny lingered over their puddings, chatting desultorily of this and that. Teddy had managed to fall asleep on the ride back to Soho. It was now after ten.

'Long day, eh?'

Ginny nodded. 'Been up since six.' She yawned, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. 'Then the train…'

'I always had a hard time settling down when school let out,' Harry commented, one hand burrowing under Ginny's hair to massage the back of her neck. 'Either not wanting to let it go, or trying to process it all.' He sat up. 'I've got something to give you.'

'Oooh. A present?' Ginny's face lit up.

'Stay right there.' Harry darted into his bedroom, and returned with a bulky, wrapped package. 'Here.' He thrust it unceremoniously into Ginny's arms.

Curiously, Ginny peeled back the wrapping paper, revealing an empty drawer from Harry's bureau. She stared at it blankly. 'What's this…?'

Confused, Harry stammered. 'A… a… drawer… For you…'

'Why?' Ginny sat up slowly, suspicion dawning over her face.

Harry sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. 'Do I have to spell it out for you?'

'I think you'd better.' Ginny set the drawer aside.

'I want you to live here,' Harry said, in a fit of boldness. 'With me.'

Ginny's jaw tightened. 'Why?'

'Why wouldn't you?'

Ginny stiffened. 'Because I might want to live on my own for a while first?' she hissed, mindful of Teddy sleeping in the next room. She surged to her feet, pacing restlessly. 'Why is it all right for _you_ to live on your own, but not me?'

'That's not what I meant,' Harry whispered heatedly.

'_Everybody_ always wants to look after me!' Ginny stormed. 'You, Mum, Dad, Ron… Demelza, Hermione, Hannah…' She spun on one heel and stomped softly to Harry. 'I can take care of myself, do you hear me?'

Stung, Harry drew back a little. 'I hear you. And this has nothing to do with your ability to look out for yourself…'

'Then why?'

'I just thought…' Harry shrugged. 'I thought you might want to live here…'

'Did you think about discussing it with me first before you bought furniture with me in mind?' Ginny scoffed. 'Yeah, I knew what you were after when we went on that shopping spree in April. You wouldn't buy anything or arrange it in here without my opinion. If I hadn't liked the flat, I'm willing to bet my broom you'd have given it up.' She folded her arms across her stomach. 'Moving in with you? That's a "someday" sort of thing to do. Not a "day I leave school" thing to do.'

'Gin…' Harry began.

'Bloody hell, Harry, we haven't even…' Ginny trailed off, embarrassed, and made a vague gesture.

'Yes, I know,' Harry said tartly, keeping his voice low.

Ginny let her arms fall to her sides. 'Moving in here… That's a commitment. More of a commitment than sex. And if I –_we_ – aren't ready to have sex with each other, then how on earth can you believe we're ready to live together? Even Ron and Hermione haven't gone that far yet?'

'At least we'll do something they haven't done,' Harry murmured, in a flat attempt to interject some humor into the tense moment.

Ginny threw her hands up. 'That's just it!' she whispered. 'I don't want to do something because either everyone else is doing it, or they haven't gotten there yet.' She grabbed her jacket from the hook by the door and stabbed her arms into the sleeves. 'I want to do it because we want to. When we're _both_ ready for it!' she snarled. Ginny yanked the door open and stalked onto the landing, barely refraining from slamming the door shut, lest she wake Teddy. She clattered down the stairs and retreated to the Leaky Cauldron to use their Floo connection to go to the Burrow.

Harry shoved his glasses up and savagely pinched the bridge of his nose. 'Well, that could have gone better,' he said to the forlorn drawer.


	2. Walking Alone

The bedroom lightened gradually with the rising sun, and Harry glared at the ceiling overhead, unwilling to close his burning eyes. He'd hardly slept the night before, and what sleep he did manage was fitful at best. The more he had allowed himself to think about Ginny's reaction to his offer for her to live with him, the more infuriated he became. Harry flung the quilt back and shuffled into the other bedroom. Teddy was awake, watching the antics of the stag, dog, and wolf drawn on the walls of the nursery. Satisfied Teddy would be able to keep himself entertained for a few minutes, Harry trudged toward the kitchen so he could at least give Teddy breakfast. As for himself, Harry didn't fancy eating at the moment. He caught sight of the drawer he'd left in the middle of the sofa when he'd gone to bed last night. He drew his wand from the pocket of his pajama bottoms, and pointed it at the drawer, desiring nothing more than to pulverize the bloody thing. Instead, it sailed through the air and drifted into Harry's bedroom, settling almost lazily into the empty space of his bureau.

He quickly prepared a small bowl of porridge for Teddy, then strode into the nursery. As he bent over the cot and scooped the toddler into his arms, Teddy whimpered and struggled to slide down Harry's body so he could crawl or walk on his own power to the kitchen. Sighing, Harry let the boy walk, Teddy's hands gripping his index fingers. It was a slow procession. Once in the kitchen, it took a herculean effort just to persuade Teddy to sit in his high chair. Teddy wailed and grunted, shaking his head, clinging monkey-like to Harry's arms. 'Oh, all right,' Harry snapped, dropping into a chair, and arranging Teddy in his lap. He picked up the spoon, and scooped up a bite of the porridge, and blew gently across it, then offered it to Teddy. Teddy squirmed in Harry's lap, whining to be let down. 'You have to eat, Teddy,' Harry told him, rubbing Teddy's lower lip with the edge of the spoon. Teddy's mouth opened, and Harry quickly pushed the spoon inside. Almost immediately, Teddy spat it out, dribbling porridge over his chin. Harry doggedly scraped it off Teddy's face, and offered him the bite once more. Teddy shook his head, hands pushing the spoon away. The porridge clumped between his fingers, and he smeared it into his hair. With far more patience than he actually felt, Harry swabbed the porridge from Teddy's hair with a damp tea towel, and doggedly scooped more porridge in the spoon. Holding it high in the air, Harry intoned in a sing-song trill, 'Open up for the aeroplane!' Teddy's head turned to the side. 'Firebolt?' Harry tried. Teddy's head turned the other way. Harry called on every tactic he'd learned from either Molly or Andromeda, but Teddy stubbornly evaded each one.

Defeated, Harry pushed the bowl away, and soberly regarded his godson. 'You need a bath,' he said.

'Ba!' Teddy repeated. 'Baaaabbbbbbbssss.'

Harry pushed himself to his feet. 'No, no bubbles today, mate,' he said with no apology. He carried Teddy into the bathroom and tapped the taps of the bathtub with his wand. As the water cascaded into the bathtub, Harry stripped off Teddy's sleepsuit and nappy, then wiped the remains of the porridge from his face and hair. Once the water had reached a depth of a few inches, Harry set Teddy into the warm water, and tossed in a few toys from a basket he kept next to the bathtub. Teddy giggled and splashed gleefully while Harry slid to the floor. He regarded Teddy for a moment, then shrugged. What did he have to lose by confiding to the baby? It wasn't as if Teddy would say anything. 'It wasn't a bad idea,' he began. 'I'll admit the timing wasn't the best.'

Teddy upended a small cup full of water over his head.

'You don't have to rub it in, mate,' Harry grumbled. 'This isn't the type of thing I can talk to Ron about. One, it's his sister, and this isn't really something that I think he'd want to hear. Two, how much do I know about Gin? Or she about me?'

Teddy held out a small rubber duck, and banged it on the edge of the bathtub.

'Well, there's that, too,' Harry admitted. 'Ron's known about Hermione since fourth year, at the very least. Not that he would admit it to himself for two more years. But still… They knew each other. Very well. Ron might be a git about some things, but I think by now he'd know enough about Hermione to not cram his foot so far into his mouth. Or at least word it differently.'

Teddy blew a raspberry at his godfather.

'I could have worded it differently. Told her it was to keep a few things here. She's got a point, doesn't she? Even with being able to use magic, I don't think I'd want to go back and forth from London to Holyhead, either. And, yeah, I'm doing exactly what she wants to do, and there's nothing wrong with that…'

'Dadadadada.'

'Exactly,' Harry grunted, feeling his ire rise anew. 'She had no reason to lash out at me like that! None.' He Summoned a clean face cloth, and vigorously lathered it, then began to wash Teddy.

XxXxXxX

Ron escaped from the kitchen, and collapsed on the bench outside the door. It wasn't that hot inside, but he felt closed in. The truth of the matter was, he still enjoyed helping Molly cook the weekly family lunch. It was a time reserved for just the two of them – a newfound experience he wasn't willing to give up. Hermione would be along later for lunch, and then that evening the two of them would join her parents for tea. What he really wanted just now, was to spend some time with Harry. Just the two of them. They hadn't had much time lately, and with Harry moving out into his own flat, they seemed to only see each other on Sundays and the couple Saturdays a month Harry put a hand in at the shop.

The garden gate squealed, ricocheting violently off the fence. Harry stalked through and headed directly for Ron. 'Watch him for me,' he said, not bothering to pose it as a request. Harry deposited Teddy in Ron's lap and went into the house.

Ron regarded Teddy for a moment, then swiveled his head to glance into the house. 'Blimey,' he said mildly. 'What's gotten into him?' Teddy had no reply for Ron. He slithered his way to the grass and sped off on his hands and knees. 'Aw, Teddy, don't go in there!' Ron chased the toddler, who was heading directly for the tool shed.

XxXxXxX

Harry paused in the kitchen long enough to ask Molly, 'Is Ginny upstairs?'

'Why… Yes…' Molly gestured with a wooden spoon toward the stairs.

'Brilliant,' Harry muttered, stomping up the staircase. He barged into Ginny's bedroom without knocking. Ginny squeaked in surprise, holding a shirt to her chest. Harry quietly closed the door and advanced on her. 'I don't know what was going on with you last night, but I did not deserve that kind of response!' he hissed.

'Harry…'

Harry's hand slashed through the air. 'I really don't want to hear what you have to say right now,' he continued. 'I heard enough last night.' He began to pace a little in the small room. 'I do love you, Ginny,' he began in a low voice. 'But that does not give you the right to take a bad day out on me. You want to complain about it? Fine. But don't turn it against me. You just don't do that to the person you love.' He paused and dragged a hand through his hair. 'I think I've been rather patient,' he told Ginny. 'I've waited for you to sort yourself out and figure out what you want, and I've not asked for anything in return. Well, now I'm asking!' The quiet sibilant whispers shocked Ginny into silence. Harry didn't raise his voice, but the fury was unmistakable. 'The _only_ thing I want from you is the same respect I've shown you. Do you hear?'

Ginny's mouth opened and closed. She nodded slightly. Harry's head jerked once in acknowledgment, then he spun on one heel and reached for the door. He yanked the door open, then just as suddenly, slammed it shut and stalked back to Ginny. He thrust his face close to hers, nose hovering a hairsbreadth over her own. 'And for the record, I do _not_ want to take care of you!' he snarled. 'Not in the way you believe. And I can't believe you would for one moment think that of me.' With that, he left, leaving Ginny standing with her hands hanging limply at her sides, shirt dangling forgotten from her fingers.

XxXxXxX

Ron looked up from his meal and elbowed Hermione lightly in the ribs. When she turned to him, he used the handle of his fork to gesture toward Harry and Ginny. They sat next to each other, as they always did, but they weren't speaking – an eddy of uncomfortable silence in the noisy kitchen. They wordlessly passed dishes to each other, but neither of them was really eating what was on their plates. Ginny cleared her throat nervously and asked, 'Could you please pass the salt?' Harry grunted something unintelligible, but picked up the salt and set it down next to her elbow. Ginny dashed a bit of salt over her potatoes, then picked up the butter dish. 'Butter?' She held it out toward him with a slightly hopeful expression on her face. It was a well-known family joke about how she'd put her elbow in the butter one morning during the first summer he stayed with them.

'No, thank you,' Harry said with polite stiltedness.

Hermione's brows drew together a little and she glanced at Ron, who shrugged.

Charlie leaned closer to Ginny. 'When do you have to be in Holyhead?'

'Try-out starts on Tuesday,' she murmured.

'Hmmm.' Charlie picked up his water glass. 'Want to come home with me later?'

Ginny pushed a roasted carrot into a puddle of gravy. Harry was unlikely to talk to her anytime soon. 'Yeah, that would be great.'

Molly brought a treacle tart to the table and began cutting it into slices. She passed plates of it around the table and Harry held up a hand. 'None for me, Molly.'

'Trying to watch your girlish figure, then, eh, Harry?' George chortled. It was telling that no one laughed at something that would have usually elicited a response.

'But… it's your favorite,' Molly protested, pressing the plate into Harry's hands. Resigned, Harry accepted the plate, but the mingled aromas of Ginny's hair and the treacle tart made his stomach roil. Two of his favorite things in the world, and he had no desire to be near either of them. In order to appease Molly, however, he managed to choke down a bite or two, then mashed the rest of it into crumbs.

He reluctantly joined the others in the paddock for a game of Quidditch, his broom held loosely in his hands, hanging back with Hermione a little. 'Oi! Harry!' Bill called. 'Are you playing?'

Harry shook his head. 'Not today.' He contemplated the broom in his hand. 'I think I might head home in a bit,' he added in an undertone.

'Are you feeling all right, Harry?' Hermione inquired worriedly.

'I'm fine,' he said shortly, and turned to replace his broom in the broom shed. 'I'll see you later, Hermione,' he said, then walked back into the house to collect Teddy and take him home.

XxXxXxX

Harry stood in his bathroom, naked, contemplating his bathtub. It was filled with an unholy amount of bubbles and hot water. Truthfully, it made him feel a bit self-conscious to loll in such a luxurious bath. Nonetheless, he gingerly lowered one foot into the steaming water, followed by the other. He folded himself into the bath with a prolonged sigh, then leaned back closing his eyes. He slid lower into the water until his chin just barely touched the bubbles. His earlier rant to Ginny notwithstanding, he could still feel simmering resentment under the aloof exterior he'd displayed at the Burrow. It was more than a little disturbing. While what he'd admitted to Ginny last summer was true – his emotional equilibrium had balanced a great deal since Voldemort died – the lingering umbrage was unsettling. It had been months since he felt this way.

He wasn't certain what had angered him more: the way Ginny had lashed out at him or her accusation that he lacked faith in her ability to look after herself. It was starting to make his head ache.

XxXxXxX

'Would your parents mind if we skipped tea with them tonight?' Ron asked Hermione, as he dropped to the grass next to her. He swiped a forearm across his face and leaned back on his elbows.

She closed the book in her lap and delicately pulled a leaf from his hair and dropped it, watching it fall to the turf between them. 'Not especially,' she replied with a shrug. 'We'll just have to stop at the telephone box in the village and ring them to let them know we've got other plans.' She adopted an inquiring expression. 'So are you going to let me in on those plans?'

'We ought to go talk to Harry.'

'Oh, Ron, I don't think that's a very good idea,' Hermione murmured. 'You know what Harry's like when he's in a mood,' she added.

'Oh, come off it, Hermione,' Ron scoffed. 'You're the one that always wants to talk about things.'

'Think about it logically, Ron,' she replied patiently. 'It's obviously something to do with Ginny, and I highly doubt he wants to talk about it with either of us.'

'How do you know that, eh?'

'Don't you think he would have sought either of us out?' Hermione said.

'Maybe he's waiting for us to come talk to him,' Ron said hopefully.

'You're not going to rest until you've rabbited it out of him, are you?' Hermione asked, resigned.

'Well, why shouldn't he talk to us? Ron shot back indignantly. 'We're his best friends.'

Hermione studied Ron for a moment, then brushed a lock of his hair from his eyes. 'It bothers you, doesn't it? That he's not come to you with this problem…'

Ron looked down at his hands, and said nothing, but nodded a few times. 'He always did before…'

Hermione reached for her bag, and stuffed the book inside. 'I still don't think it's a good idea,' she stated, 'but it he and Ginny were behaving a bit oddly.'

'And we're not going to get to talk to Gin for a few days, at least,' Ron told her. He directed Hermione's attention to the lane outside the garden gate. Ginny held Charlie's arm, a bag slung over one shoulder, her broom clutched tightly in her free hand. The broom shimmered a little in the afternoon sunlight and Ron's face split into a grin. 'She's put every Cushioning charm known to wizardkind on that broom…'

Hermione snorted. 'I don't know much about Quidditch, but even I know that if her broom were to break or possibly Splinch during Apparition, it would put quite a damper on her try-out.' She got to her feet and dusted the seat of her jeans off. 'Come on, then,' she sighed. 'You won't rest until we go to London…'

XxXxXxX

Ron knocked firmly on Harry's door, waited exactly ten seconds, then unleashed another barrage on the locked door.

'I still don't think we ought to be here,' Hermione whispered.

'We're his friends, Hermione,' Ron insisted. 'It's what we do.'

Hermione's eyes closed briefly, and she tentatively knocked on the door.

Inside the flat, Harry's eyes flew open at the sounds of insistent knocking. When they didn't immediately resume, he settled back into his bath, and was just on the verge of slipping back into the half doze he'd been in for some time when a series of timid knocks broke the silence.

'He obviously doesn't want company, Ron,' Hermione said quickly, swinging around to face Ron. 'And have you ever known Harry to refuse pudding _and_ leave before the Quidditch game ended? He didn't play, either.'

'All the more reason for us to be here.'

The door swung open. Harry stood on the other side, damp hair sticking out, a towel wrapped around his hips, skin flecked with daubs of foam. 'What?' he barked.

'Oh...' Hermione turned to Ron. 'I _told_ you we shouldn't have come.'

'D'you always have to be right?' Ron asked huffily.

'If the two of you are going to bicker, I'm going to put some clothes on. I don't fancy standing here in naught but a towel listening to the two of you have the same argument that you've had since we started school, while I drip on my floor.' Harry spun on his bare heel and strode to his bedroom. Of all the people that had to show up, those two were the last ones he wanted to see right now. As much as they disagreed with each other and bickered, they usually acted as something resembling a single unit – the benefit of a long and thoroughly comfortable relationship.

And after his row with Ginny, it was enough to make him want to be sick.

Harry yanked on a pair of clean pajama bottoms and jerked a t-shirt over his head, then ungraciously stomped back into the sitting room. 'Right. You're here, so you might as well give me what lecture you've got planned so you can go home and leave me be.' He flopped onto the sofa, sprawling on the edge. 'Get on with it.' He glowered at his friends, staring at him in astonishment.

'Things seemed a bit… tense… between you and Ginny,' Hermione began.

'So?' Harry challenged. 'It's quite all right for the two of you to bicker like it's nothing, but I can't have a disagreement with Ginny?'

Hermione fiddled with the edge of a small throw pillow. 'You don't normally ignore her like that,' she told him quietly.

'It's just a fight, Hermione,' Harry sighed wearily.

'What did you fight about?' Ron asked curiously.

Harry let his head fall back. 'You don't want to know.'

'We do,' Ron responded. 'So I can decide what hex or jinx to cast.'

Harry inhaled slowly. 'I asked her to live with me…'

Ron stared at him in open-mouthed shock. 'Did you talk to Gin first?' Harry shook his head. 'Have you lost your bleeding mind?' he spluttered, feeling a bit of pride for feeling out how Hermione felt about the matter before attempting to cajole George into letting him have the flat.

Harry's head turned slowly on the sofa, and he regarded Ron thoughtfully. 'It appears I have,' he said mildly.

'I take it Ginny didn't accept?' Hermione asked delicately.

'No,' Harry muttered. 'She told me I was trying to take care of her.'

'Are you?' retorted Ron.

Harry shot him a quelling look, but added, 'Said I was denying her the opportunity to have what I do.'

Ron looked down at his hands. Things didn't quite add up. There were times when he thought Harry was quite out of his tree in regards to Ginny. Harry was far more tolerant of her moods that Ron had been, but he attributed that to the fact Harry wanted to be with Ginny, whereas he was her older brother and was forced to bear with her because they were siblings. But he understood doubt and uncertainty, especially when framed with such a seismic shift as Harry and Ginny were about to have. 'You're afraid she's not coming back,' he stated softly.

'I am not,' Harry scoffed. 'I know what I want, and after years of living for other people, I think I deserve to live for myself.'

'You're afraid she'll go out, live her life, and figure out she doesn't want to be with you,'

Ron told him.

Harry glowered at Ron, feeling his ears burn. 'Stop.'

'Stop what?' Ron asked cluelessly.

'I really want people to stop telling me what I mean and how I feel, damn it,' Harry growled. He lurched forward from the sofa and snatched a film from a precarious pile next to his television and brandished it like a shield in front of him. 'Now that you've said what you came to say, you can leave, or you'll watch this with me,' he snapped.

Hermione leaned forward, eyes narrowed, as she read the case. 'Oh, God,' she muttered, paling slightly. 'Not Mr. Creosote…' she said fearfully. 'Let's go.' She grabbed Ron's hand and all but pulled him to the door. 'Good-bye, Harry. We'll see you later…'

'I don't understand,' Ron complained. 'What's so bad about that film thing he's waving at us?'

They disappeared down the stairs, and Harry sagged on the sofa with a sigh of relief. _The Meaning of Life_, he mused. 'Just what I need just now…'

XxXxXxX

Ginny followed Charlie into his spare cabin and dropped her bag next to the sofa, then propped her broom in the corner. Charlie rolled his eyes and snagged it in one hand. 'You're sleeping in the bed,' he told her, striding toward his bedroom.

'The sofa's fine,' Ginny protested. 'I can't take your bed from you…'

Charlie reappeared in the sitting room, and aimed a light kick at the sofa. 'No, you won't be fine on the sofa.' His expression softened a little, and he tugged at Ginny's ponytail. 'One of my regrets is not at least giving it go with the English team, and I'll be damned if you cock this up because you had to sleep on that bloody excuse for a sofa.' Ginny blinked in response. For Charlie, that was nearly a speech. Charlie brushed her hair from her eyes. 'I've got nights in the hatchery this week, so by the time I'm going to work, it'll be time for you to go to bed, and when I get home, you'll be ready to head to the pitch.'

'I suppose…'

'Brilliant.' Charlie patted her back. 'Right then. I'm going for a kip. Shift starts at eleven, and I don't fancy tackling hatchlings without a few winks.' He bent to unlace his boots and indicated the door. 'Go out. See the village. Golden Talon's the best pub. You can have a nice stroll through the reservation if you like. Places you can't go are marked and charmed.'

Ginny nodded, eyes swiveling toward her broom. 'Thanks, Charlie.'

'No worries, eh? Just give 'em hell at the trial, yeah?' Charlie grinned crookedly at her, then disappeared into the bedroom.

Ginny grabbed her broom, and darted out of the cabin. She threw a leg over the handle and kicked off, swooping in an expansive arc toward the Harpies' stadium, tucked into a valley. She flew around the goal posts and came to a stop, hovering over the middle of the pitch, staring at the village that might become her home for however long _she_ chose.

Freshening wind off the Irish Sea blew strands of hair across her face, but she ignored them.

If she cared to admit it to herself – which she didn't – Ginny was terrified. She finally had the chance to be Ginny Weasley on her terms, and not someone's sister or girlfriend. She just hoped she didn't make a complete disaster of it.


	3. Trials

Ginny stared at the beamed ceiling of Charlie's bedroom, fingers tapping restlessly on top of the quilt. She sighed and flung the bedding back and swung her feet to the chilly floorboards. She dug a pair of ragged jog pants that had once belonged to one of the twins – George, if the faded name scrawled on the inside of the waistband was correct – and yanked a running singlet and t-shirt over her head, padding into the bathroom, while she quickly shook the plait from her hair, and ran a brush through it. She bound it into a ponytail and hurriedly brushed her teeth and splashed water on her face. Ginny slid her feet into her trainers, adjusting the laces. She burst from the cabin's door into the misty dawn.

She began a series of stretches and exercises prescribed by Gwenog to increase her flexibility and strength, pleased to note that her nose was fractionally closer to her knee than it had been in March. Tight muscles gradually loosened and warmed, so she struck off for the entrance of the reservation at a slow jog. Gwenog had also suggested she take up running, hiking, or even riding a Muggle bicycle in order to increase her endurance. Running was a new activity for Ginny, and she wasn't certain she completed the activity with anything resembling fondness. She took a moment to wonder if Harry knew how to ride a bicycle, stumbling as her throat tightened. _Probably show me how to ride if off a bleeding cliff_, she thought. Pushing the thought firmly from her mind, Ginny gradually increased her pace, taking the path on the right from the reservation's gate. She focused on the steady rhythm of her trainers slapping against the packed earth. _One-and-two-and-one-and-two…_' she counted. It was the only thing that kept her mind off the stitch in her side. After completing two laps around the reservation, Ginny veered into the reservation itself, taking a few steps toward Charlie's cabin before she slowed to a walk. She bent forward at the waist, bracing her hands on her knees, as she panted, greedily sucking in sorely needed oxygen. Sweat dripped from the tip of her nose and into her eyes. She lifted the hem of the t-shirt and swiped it over her face, grimacing at how her knees trembled.

'You're Charlie's sister,' a woman's voice said from one side of Ginny. Ginny let the hem of the t-shirt fall and studied the woman. 'You've got the look of him.' Ginny raised a skeptical eyebrow. She didn't think she resembled Charlie at all. 'I was beginning to think he'd made up the lot of you.'

'No.' Ginny straightened and arched her back. 'There're six of us. Plus my oldest brother's wife and our parents. My youngest brother's girlfriend… They'll be getting married, just a matter of time. Took them four years to realize they actually fancied one another.' She took an experimental step, pleased to discover her knees wouldn't actually buckle, then began to walk slowly toward the cabin. 'There's my… Well, erm, my boyfriend.' Ginny gulped. 'And his godson,' she added in a rush. 'We all exist.'

'Have a trial with the Harpies, don't you?'

'Tomorrow.' Ginny eyed the dark-haired woman. 'I don't mean to be rude, but who are you?'

'Bronwyn Rhys. I'm a Healer here. My da's the Head of the reservation.' She shook her head incredulously. 'You mean Charlie's never mentioned me?'

Ginny chuckled. 'Charlie doesn't really talk about himself much. His work, yes. Personal life, you'd think he didn't have one.'

'I think I'm beginning to see that,' Bronwyn said dryly. 'I'm a… friend… of Charlie's.'

'I think I'm beginning to see that,' Ginny responded. 'Don't take it personally. It's just Charlie.'

'Hmmmm.' Bronwyn inhaled slowly. 'Well, if you get bored banging around that empty cabin of his, come by the infirmary. I've got the early shift this week.' She began to walk backward toward the low building on her right. 'Tell him I'm on for dinner tonight, all right? That way you'll get a decent meal, and not whatever tinned slop he can manage to scrape together.'

'I thank you, and my mother thanks you. She'd be horrified if she knew I was trying to eat Charlie's cooking.'

'I'll be there about six.'

'Okay.' Ginny trudged across the valley and collapsed on the steps of Charlie's cabin. The door opened behind her and Charlie nudged her bum with the toe of one of his boots.

'There you are. Fancy breakfast?'

'Yeah.' Ginny leaned forward, heaving herself to her feet. 'So, I met Bronwyn…'

'Yeah?'

'She's nice.'

'Hmmm.'

'She says she's on for dinner tonight.' Ginny walked past Charlie into the cabin. She headed for the kitchen, and bent over the sink, splashing cold water over her heated face. 'So, is she just a friend, or a _friend_?'

Charlie opened a cupboard and removed a box of cereal. 'Do you want toast?' he asked, ignoring Ginny's inquiry.

'Sure.'

'Bread's over there.' Charlie indicated a cupboard near Ginny. He turned and saw Ginny's bright eyes fixed on him, waiting for an answer. 'We've been out a few times.'

'Going to bring her home for Sunday lunch?'

'Dunno.' Charlie Banished the box of cereal and two bowls to the table, along with a jug of milk and a carton of orange juice. 'Tea or coffee?'

'Tea.'

Charlie tapped his kettle, waited for it to issue a piercing whistle, then poured it over tea leaves he'd already spooned into an old teapot. 'Got plans for the day?'

'Nothing special.' Ginny carried a plate of toast to the table. 'Where do you keep your butter?'

Without speaking, Charlie reached into the cupboard where he kept such things, and groped for the crock of butter, handing it to his sister. He used his wand to direct the teapot to the table. He yawned widely. 'Wish I didn't need the sleep. I'd practice with you.'

'Gwenog said I could come up to the stadium today and practice a bit.'

'Brilliant. Just be back before five for dinner, all right?'

Ginny nodded, and ate quickly, then washed her dishes, stacking them neatly in the dish drainer. She slipped into Charlie's bedroom and grabbed her bag, tossing it to the floor next to the sofa. She could shower and dress when she returned from the Quidditch pitch without disturbing Charlie.

xxxxxx

On a broom, Ginny often felt a measure of freedom she didn't experience anywhere else. Nothing else mattered. Not the pressure she put on herself to prove what she could do. Personal problems were left behind. It was an escape. She could remember waking up in the middle of the night and sneaking to the broom shed, picking the lock with one of Molly's hairpins, then grabbing each of her older brothers' brooms in turns. In the air, she could be anything she wanted, do anything she wanted. Her imagination took flight with her, creating a tale where she was the daring heroine, swooping in to rescue a prince in distress. In her childhood dreams, the prince always had a shock of black hair and bright green eyes. It was she who rescued him from the Muggles and returned him to his rightful place in the magical community. Reality had been shockingly the reverse.

Even now, as she flew through the Harpies' stadium, practicing various formations, sweat dripping into her eyes, she was able to forget – albeit briefly – what had sent her running to Holyhead two days before her trial. Flying was deceptively hard work. There were dozens of small adjustments to be made in order to maintain one's balance; adjustments that required a great deal of intense concentration, especially when performed with only one hand to guide the broom. Of course, playing Seeker gobbled up massive swaths of one's focus. Many of the maneuvers a Seeker executed were done using only the knees to help control the broom. Good flyers made it look all too easy. Excellent flyers made it look effortless. Ginny strove for effortless. "Effortless effort" Oliver Wood was said to have called it. George once told her Oliver spent an entire hour one Saturday morning expounding on the virtues of attaining that elusive effortless effort.

'Weasley!'

Ginny shook her head, as if gnats bothered her.

On the pitch, Gwenog Jones planted her hands on her hips and glared at her newest recruit. She knew the girl was headstrong, but at the rate Ginny was going, she would wear herself out before the trial even started. 'Weasley!' she barked.

Ginny spared a glance for the team's captain, and then paid her no mind. She began a move called a Woollongong Shimmy – a complex zigzagging maneuver that relied on the flyer's ability to turn on a Knut. Ginny wasn't quite there yet.

Gwenog pointed her wand at her throat. '_Sonorus._' She tilted her head back. 'WEASLEY!' she bellowed, her voice magically amplified. 'GET YOUR ARSE DOWN HERE NOW!'

Ginny came to a halt in mid-air, rubbing the side of her face over the shoulder of her sodden t-shirt, attempting to catch her breath. She directed her broom to the middle of the pitch, where Gwenog stood, arms crossed over her chest. Gwenog's eyes narrowed. 'I said you could practice, not kill yourself.'

'I'm fine,' Ginny panted.

'Get some rest tonight. '

'I was planning on it,' Ginny replied icily.

Gwenog handed her a handful of parchment. 'Information on living in Holyhead, if you want to live here. I suggest you organize a flat or a room in a pub before you report for training in two weeks.'

It all came crashing back to Ginny.

Somewhere to live.

'Thanks,' she said dully.

'I don't want to see you anywhere near a broom until tomorrow morning, eh?' She herded Ginny toward the players' changing room. 'You've got two bloody hard days ahead. Get a shower, eat a decent meal, and have a kip.'

xxxxxx

Ginny ran her hand through her damp hair, spreading it over her shoulders so it might dry faster. She stretched out on Charlie's rather lumpy sofa and closed her eyes. The rudimentary lunch she'd eaten after her shower littered the coffee table. She shifted this way and that, unable to settle. Deciding getting any sort of sleep just now was an exercise in futility, Ginny grabbed the stack of parchment Gwenog had given her and left the cabin. She started to walk to the entrance of the reservation, but changed her mind and doubled back to the infirmary. The building itself was a surprise. It looked like a low, dark building from the outside, but inside, the ceilings soared, allowing light and air inside. Bronwyn perched on a table, clad in green robes, her dark hair pulled back from her face, wrapping a bandage around another man's arm. 'There you are, Elliot. Now, keep it dry until tomorrow morning. You'll be good as new in a few days.' She tapped the end of the bandage with her wand to make it stick, then reached behind her for a square of parchment and waved her wand over it. 'There's a note for your supervisor. Light duty for the next three days.' She saw Ginny hovering in the doorway and waved her over. 'Come back before your next shift and we'll have a look at it.' The hapless Elliot left, holding his arm out gingerly in front of him. Bronwyn smiled brightly at Ginny. 'Thank Merlin! Other than Elliot, you're the only one I've seen for hours. Rather dull today around here, I'm afraid.'

'Charlie says you grew up here.'

'Yes, I did.'

Ginny held up the parchment. 'I have this list of flats to let…'

'And you need an opinion, is that it?' Ginny nodded in reply, and Bronwyn held out a hand for the list. 'Why would you want to live in some dinky flat, when you can stay at home?'

Ginny's nostrils flared and she reached for the parchment. 'Never mind…'

Bronwyn held it out of Ginny's range. 'Now don't bite my head off. It's a perfectly legitimate question, considering you're not even eighteen yet.'

'Have you any idea what it's like to go from a house full of people, to a school dormitory, then back to the house full of people? To never truly have a moment for yourself?' Ginny stared wistfully out of the window. 'Some people just don't seem to get that.'

'From what Charlie's told me, your family oughtn't to mind you moving here. Not if they let him hare off to Romania to play with dragons before he finished school.'

'It's not my mum and dad,' Ginny responded. 'Why are boys such idiots?' she asked suddenly.

'That's a question asked by women from time immortal.' Bronwyn tucked her feet under her, and settled comfortably on the table. 'In my experience, mostly because dragonkeepers tend to be men – very stubborn and tenacious men – they don't always see past the tip of their own nose when it comes to something they want.'

'Explains a lot,' Ginny muttered, then said nothing more.

Bronwyn suspected there was more to Ginny's statement, but didn't pursue it, figuring if the girl wanted to talk about it, she would in her own time. She examined the list of addressees and reached back for a quill. 'I'll cross off the ones you might want to avoid.'

'Dodgy, eh?'

"Hmmm. I wouldn't say dodgy, exactly, but unless you're willing to live with ghouls in the attics, or want to fight with the witch or wizard who owns the building over the fact you've gone ahead and repaired the leaky taps, then I wouldn't live there.'

'Thank you,' Ginny said sincerely. 'I mean, I've only just met you this morning, and…'

Bronwyn shrugged. 'If I had a younger sister about to do what you're doing, I'd want someone to lend a hand here and there, too.' She saw the subtle stiffening of Ginny body and filed it in the back of her head. 'Better go and have a look at those flats before it gets too late. You might not feel up to it later this week.'

'Right…' Ginny tucked the parchment into the pocket of her jeans. 'Thanks again.' She trotted out of the infirmary, Bronwyn following at a slower pace. She watched Ginny head for the entrance of the reservation. She intrigued Bronwyn, making her wonder if all of Charlie's family were a curious mixture of pride and stubbornness. Or perhaps it was a product of being not only the youngest of a large family, but the only daughter with several much older brothers. Charlie hadn't really ever said, but Bronwyn fancied he hadn't had much as a child. Unlike most of the others on the reservation, he seemed perfectly content with the somewhat shabby, lumpy reservation-issued sofa and scarred kitchen table. From what she'd seen of his wardrobe, he kept his clothes until they were little more than rags, and from the looks of Ginny that morning, she had more than her fair share of clothes handed down to her or bought secondhand. Despite living most of her life in the male-dominated worlds of Healers and dragonkeepers, one thing Bronwyn knew very well was how harshly women could judge each other.

Her shift couldn't end too soon.

xxxxxx

Bronwyn sprinted across the valley to Charlie's cabin. She arrived winded and gasping for breath. Exercise for her normally consisted of a brisk walk. People who liked running were touched in their head as far as Bronwyn was concerned. The door of Charlie's cabin would be open. Very few of them bothered with locks or charms at the reservation. She slipped into the cabin and pulled her robes off, revealing a pair of jeans and a cotton tunic. She carefully opened the door of the cabin's single bedroom, and edged into the darkened bedroom. Bronwyn quietly shut the door and stood with her eyes shut, counting slowly to ten. When she opened her eyes, she could make out the dim outlines of the bureau and bed. She didn't blame him for keeping the window charmed to block light. She often did the same thing when she had the overnight shift in the infirmary. Bronwyn crawled onto Charlie's bed. 'Charlie, wake up…' She ran a fingertip lightly around the outer edge of his ear. 'Come on, Charlie…'

Charlie grunted and jerked his head away from Bronwyn's feathery touch. 'Wha…?'

'What's your sister wearing tomorrow?'

Charlie blinked blearily at her. 'Dunno.'

'Well she certainly can't go in those ratty jog pants. They're almost indecent,' Bronwyn said crisply.

'Haaah?' Charlie was still groggily attempting to make sense of what she said.

'It's a girl sort of thing,' Bronwyn added helpfully. 'Has she any other clothes to wear to the trial?'

Charlie hitched himself up against the headboard of the bed, Bronwyn's insistent questions finally working their way through the mental cotton wool wrapped around his brain. 'Dunno, and I'm not goin' to look through her things to fin' out.'

'Have you got any gold here?'

'In the tea tin in the back of the cupboard over the stove.' Charlie frowned. 'Why?'

'You'll find out,' Bronwyn told him, kissing him full on the mouth. 'I'll be back within the hour.' She clambered off the bed. 'Ginny's about my size, is she not?'

Charlie slid back down into the bed, and pulled the bedding over his head. He opened one eye, squinting at Bronwyn. 'Just about.'

'Excellent. Go back to sleep.' Bronwyn left the bedroom, scooping up the robes she's tossed over the sofa.

xxxxxx

Ginny warmed her hands around the mug of tea. She didn't really want it, but she took it nonetheless to give herself something to do. She took a few perfunctory sips to be polite. Bronwyn had made the tea, just as she had the meal, and while they were both good, Ginny had to force herself to do more than nibble, recognizing the nascent flutters of butterflies in her stomach. The company was good, as well. Bronwyn was able to draw actual conversation from Charlie, not just monosyllabic grunts. Pleading exhaustion, Ginny excused herself to bed, and threw herself across the neatly made bed.

She'd found a flat that afternoon. It was small studio flat, with a cramped kitchen and small bathroom. But to Ginny it was palatial. She could barely contain her glee at the prospect of having her own bathroom. Her own space. She could probably scrounge some furniture from the attic. She didn't need much beyond a bureau, bed, and a table. Molly would help her shop for bedding and a few odds and ends for the kitchen. The flat itself was a little dark, tucked under the eaves of an old building, but Ginny didn't mind. It was hers. She fell asleep, fantasizing of the luxurious baths she would be able to have when she moved in two weeks' time.

xxxxxx

'Getting late,' Charlie commented.

Bronwyn waved him off. 'Is she coming back out?'

'Doubt it.'

Bronwyn reached for her bag, and pulled out carrier bag from a Muggle shop in Cardiff. 'This ought to do for the next couple of days.' Charlie peered inside, nodding in mute approval. 'Is she always so resistant to offers of help?' Bronwyn added, retrieving her own tea.

Charlie raised his mug to his lips. 'Dunno.'

'You aren't sure, because she's never been like this before, or you honestly do not know?'

Charlie set his mug next to his feet. 'I was almost nine when Gin was born. Left for school when she was three and starting to get interesting. Only saw her on holidays, then I left for Romania before her ninth birthday. I saw her the next year at Christmas. She was ten. Next time I saw her, she was thirteen, during the Ireland-Bulgaria World Cup. Didn't see her again until she was sixteen.' Charlie shrugged. 'How well do you think I know her?' He picked up the mug and swallowed the tea left inside. 'Have to go. Adam's on a rampage about blokes showing up to the overnight shift late.'

'Charlie…'

'Thanks for getting this for her,' Charlie nudged the carrier bag.

'Charlie…'

'Could you put it in the kitchen for me? Thanks.' Charlie disappeared into the fog-shrouded night before Bronwyn could say another word.

xxxxxx

Ginny stretched, keeping her eyes tightly shut against the sunlight streaming through the thin curtains. The scent of frying bacon slipped under the door and teased her nostrils. The gurgle of anticipation in her stomach soon transformed into a rumble of unease. She pried her eyes open and stared at the gently ticking clock on Charlie's bedside table.

Eight o'clock.

Her trial with Holyhead would begin in a mere two hours. She swung her feet to the floor and stood, then slowly rolled down to touch the floor next to her feet. She laid both palms flat against the braided rug and gradually straightened her knees, breathing deeply. Carefully, contracting the muscles of her abdomen, she began the process of standing upright, one vertebra at a time. She tiptoed to the door and opened it a little, peering through the crack, as she had done so often as a small child when Charlie and Bill were home for the holidays. 'Morning,' she said softly.

Charlie looked up from the eggs he stirred in a pan, cooking them the Muggle way. 'Morning.' He slid some of them on a waiting plate, and held it toward Ginny. 'Hungry?'

'I guess.' Ginny accepted the plate and gingerly sat on the edge of a chair at the table.

Charlie inspected her for a moment. 'You look pale,' he commented, watching her pick at her breakfast.

'Nervous,' Ginny said shortly.

'Hmmm.' Charlie silently finished cooking his eggs and joined Ginny at the table. 'Could do the trite thing and tell you to just do your best.'

'I think I'd like that.'

Charlie buttered a piece of toast. 'Just do your best, yeah?'

'I really want to be on the Reserve squad,' Ginny admitted.

'Will you be happy if you end up on the practice squad?'

'I suppose. Better than nothing.' She shrugged. 'Probably not.'

Charlie hid a smile behind his toast. 'You want the Reserve squad, then do it. What do you have to lose?' He indicated Ginny's half-eaten breakfast. 'If you're done with that, why don't you go grab a shower? Get to the pitch early and warm up a little.'

'Okay…' Ginny scooped up her plate and carried it into the kitchen and dropped it in the sink, Vanishing the remains of the food. Charlie waited until he heard the water running, then went to a cupboard, and dug out a parcel, wrapped in plain brown paper. He didn't have anything more festive. He quickly scrawled Ginny's name on the parcel, and placed it on the small table, then resumed his meal.

Presently, Ginny emerged from the bathroom with an accompanying cloud of steam, dressed in the ragged jog pants she'd worn the day before. _Bronwyn was right_, Charlie thought with a small pang. He unfolded himself from the chair and headed for his bathroom, wanting a hot shower before he went to sleep. 'Play like you do with us. You'll be fine.' The bathroom door closed firmly behind him. Ginny plopped to the floor to put her trainers on when she saw the parcel on the table. Convinced it hadn't been there before, she craned her head to examine it, smiling when she saw her name written on it. She picked apart the twine holding the paper together, revealing a pair of black track pants and a dark blue race bra top. She frowned, searching the wrappings for a card or note, feeling her hopes rise. A wave of disappointment rippled through her when she found the envelope bearing her name in Charlie's scrawl, rather than Harry's angular hand. She tamped down the melancholy. She had no time for such emotions right now. Ginny carefully folded the track pants and bra top and slid them into her bag. She picked her up wand from the table and took her broom down from the hooks next to the door.

Time to go.

xxxxxx

The Harpies' changing room was, to Ginny's admittedly limited standards, hedonistic. A place for her belongings. Numerous benches to sit and prepare for a match. Several shower stalls, fronted with opaque glass doors, lined with clean white tiles. Piles of plush dark green towels. Green and gold accent tiles dotted the floors and walls. In comparison, the Hogwarts' changing room was little more than a tool shed. 'Blimey,' she breathed.

'Who're you?'

Ginny looked up. A woman who looked as if she was in her late twenties sat on the floor, stretching. 'Ginny.'

'Ginny…?' the witch prompted.

'Ginny Weasley.'

A hush descended over the room. Ten pairs of eyes swiveled in her direction. 'How old are you?' another witch called.

'Almost eighteen.' Ginny set her bag down on a vacant bench and bent to untie her trainers. She decided the best course of action was to not let the other, and obviously older, witches intimidate her. Or at least not let them think they were intimidating her.

'Eighteen,' a witch in a far corner muttered. 'Bet she makes the Reserves,' she added in an undertone to her companion. 'You know, because of who she is.'

Ginny lowered the old jog pants and shimmied into the new track pants. _Don't let them get to you…_ She hauled the oversized t-shirt over her head and slipped the bra top on, wriggling out of her bra once the bra top was in place. She flicked her wand at the discarded clothes, and they crammed themselves into her bag. She tossed the bag into the locker in front of her and tapped it with her wand. It locked with a soft _click_, and a small, round disc glowed brightly.

'Press your thumb to it,' a witch advised. Ginny glanced at her. She seemed to be close to Ginny's age and hadn't joined in the discontented murmurs. 'That way the charm locking the door can't be easily broken.'

Ginny reached out and pressed her right thumb to the disc. 'Why do that?'

'Rivalries can get intense,' the witch replied. 'There have been instances where a visiting team breaks into the home team's changing room and mucks about with their things. I'm Julia, by the way. My friends call me Jules.' Julia wriggled her hands into her gloves. 'What position?'

'Chaser.'

'Play another one? I hear Gwenog likes players who can play more than one position.'

'I can play Seeker if need be.' Ginny worked her arms behind her head and began to weave her hair into a tight plait. 'You?'

'Beater, mostly. I don't do too badly at Keeper, but I can't find a Snitch if my life depended on it, and Quaffles always seem to slip through my fingers.' Julia watched in fascination as Ginny bound the end of the plait and tossed it over her shoulder. 'You always have hair that long?'

'Yeah.' Ginny picked up a roll of tape and carefully wrapped her wrists and the joints of her fingers.

'It doesn't get in the way?' Julia ran a hand through her closely cropped hair.

'Not usually.' Ginny slid her gloves over her hands, bending and stretching her fingers to settle them over her palms.

'Well, good luck, then.' Julia held out a hand. Ginny gazed at it for a moment, then grasped it. 'Seeing as how we're not going for the same position, eh?' For a moment, a cold, slightly menacing expression came over Julia's face. Ginny felt a bit of relief that she wasn't a Beater. She had a feeling Julia wouldn't let anyone stand in her way.

'Yeah. Luck to you, as well.' Ginny didn't add, _We're going to need it._ She didn't have to.


	4. Flying Too Close To the Sun

Ginny sat on the edge of the pitch, right leg straight in front, her left foot resting on the inside of her thigh. She reached for the toes of her outstretched foot, loosening the muscles in her calf. She swapped her feet and repeated the procedure with her left leg. She unfolded her right leg and stretched it out, wrapping her hands over the toes of her trainers. From the corner of her eye, she could see one of the other women performing the same stretch, except the bridge of her nose rested on her knees. Ginny felt a wave of consternation because there was still a gap of at least two inches between the tip of her nose and her knees. She scrambled to her feet and swung her right arm in a circle in one direction several times, then reversed it. She switched her arms and did the exercise once more. A woman clad in the dark green-and-gold robes of the Harpies approached the cluster of women near Ginny, a clipboard held loosely in one hand. 'I'm Marion,' she stated. 'The senior Chaser of the team.'

'But not the captain?' one of the other women asked. Marion smiled thinly and shook her head. The woman snorted. 'Senior, but not good enough to be the captain,' she added _sotto voce_, but Marion heard every word. Her eyes narrowed and Ginny had a sneaking suspicion that it was a mark against the woman.

Marion looked down at the clipboard. 'There are three Chaser positions we need to fill – one Reserve and two on the practice squad.' Ginny glanced surreptitiously around, counting four others. 'I'd like you to tell me who you are, and what other position you play,' she said, as if she didn't already know exactly who each of them were, and what they could do.

The woman who had spoken to Marion piped up. 'Sondra Hemmings. Chaser, obviously, and Beater.' She grinned smugly.

'Aimee Wellington and I can play Keeper in addition to Chasing.'

'Felicia Barnes-Dare. Beater.' Felicia spoke with an economy of words and began checking over her broom.

'Daisy Pike and I play Chaser and Seeker.' Ginny's head came up warily. She inhaled deeply to steady her nerves before she opened her mouth.

'Ginny Weasley,' she said quietly. 'Chaser and Seeker.' She exchanged a look with Daisy, the two of them silently evaluating the other. She didn't miss the scathing looks Aimee and Sondra aimed at her.

'What we're going to do today is have you play a scrimmage against the practice squad, taking turns in both positions you can play. Final placements will be announced Friday morning.' She consulted the clipboard. 'Weasley, Hemmings, and Wellington, you're going to Chase this time. Pike, you're going to Seek, since we're not looking for a person who primarily plays Seeker. Go take some laps around the pitch.' Ginny didn't need to be told twice. She mounted her broom and kicked off, shooting into the clear, salt-scented air.

Gwenog ambled toward Marion. 'What do you think?' she murmured, looking up at the players flying in swirls around the stands.

'Talking about attitude or skills?'

'Either one.'

Marion glanced over her shoulder. 'The blonde,' she said so softly, she nearly mouthed it. 'Hasn't learned to mind her voice.'

'Mmmm.' Gwenog nodded once. 'Anyone else?'

Marion hesitated, because she knew how Gwenog had raved about the girl. 'The little one.'

Gwenog merely raised a straight brow. 'And?'

'There's independence, and there's independence.'

'Could she be a detriment to team cohesion?'

Marion shrugged. 'Might. Unless you want to spend the effort to change her mind.'

Gwenog rubbed a forefinger over her eyebrow. 'Let's see how the next two days go.' She grinned, but there was no joy in it. 'A little humility never hurt anyone.'

xxxxxx

Ginny huddled with the other people that would make up the team for this scrimmage. Besides the players from her group, there were Julia and Kimmie, the other person trying for the one Beater position, and Jocelyn who was looking to fill one of the Keeper slots. 'Right, I've got the most experience, so I'll captain this go,' Sondra said loftily, before any of the others had a chance to say anything.

'Why does it have to be you?' Kimmie snorted. 'Bouncing from team to team doesn't translate into experience.' She tightened the strap on one of her gloves. 'Daisy's been with one team the longest.' Sondra glowered, almost pouting.

Daisy shook her head, dark brown hair flying around her face. 'Rather not Seek and try and captain at the same time. If Sondra wants it, she can have it,' she said, wilting under the attention. Julia nudged Ginny and tilted her head toward the middle of the huddle. Ginny shook her head slightly. Julia sighed and glared at Ginny. Ginny pointedly looked away. She didn't want to admit how deeply the catty comments in the changing room had cut, and putting herself up for captain would ensure more of those sorts of remarks.

'I think Ginny ought to do it,' Julia said. 'She was captain of her house team at school. She's the one with recent experience at it.' The suggestion was met with stony silence.

'Sondra wants it,' Ginny mumbled, tucking a strand of loose hair back into her plait. 'She can have it.' Sondra smirked and flounced to the center of the pitch.

'What are you doing?' Julia hissed.

'I don't want to be distracted,' Ginny told her. 'I'm not here to show off my captaining ability. I'm here to play.' She motioned toward Sondra, preening under her fleeting title. 'Want to lay odds on her failing as the captain because she's so concerned about impressing Gwenog?'

Julia pulled her goggles up. 'What makes you so sure?'

Ginny pursed her lips. 'See how she's not trying to talk about a strategy with the entire team? She's just waiting for the rest of us to follow her.'

'And how would you know so much about it?' Julia sniffed, allowing disdain to creep into her voice for the first time.

'My brothers' captain at school was Oliver Wood. Reserve Keeper for Puddlemere right out of school, you know.' Ginny paused slightly, allowing a knowing looks to settle over her face. 'He never asked them to do something he wasn't willing to do himself. And before every practice and every game, every player knew exactly what they were going to do.' Ginny straddled her broom and settled her goggles over her eyes. 'Good luck.'

'You, too.' Julia waited until Ginny was aloft before she made a moue of displeasure. She might be friendly to her, but Julia was like the others at the trial – there for herself, and Ginny's cocksure attitude wasn't going to endear her to the other women jostling for five positions spread amongst the Reserves and the practice squad.

The whistle sounded shrilly and with a flash of gold, Gwenog released the Snitch. As Ginny had predicted, Sondra wasted a great deal of time, screaming at the other Chasers, attempting to mount some sort of offensive tactic. Unfortunately, this only served to alert the other team to their plans. Ginny dodged a Bludger, waving in Sondra's direction. Sondra, to be fair, was surrounded by the Chasers from the opposing team. Sighing, Ginny streaked for Sondra, diving for the space underneath, hoping the woman had her wits about her. Sondra managed to pull up slightly, then fairly hurled the Quaffle down to Ginny, who heaved a sigh of relief that Sondra was able to read her intentions. Ginny was able to catch the Quaffle with little trouble. The Porskoff Ploy was a maneuver she had practiced with Demelza and Natalie last year over and over. It became their signature move. Tucking the Quaffle against her body, Ginny embarked on a course to the goalposts designed to throw off the opposing Chasers as much as possible. She feinted toward the left, but the ball curved to the right, soaring through the glittering hoop.

The sound of Gwenog's whistle was the sweetest sound Ginny had heard in days.

_At least I can do this right_, she thought grimly.

'Forty to ten, Practice!' Gwenog shouted.

Ginny allowed a small triumphant smile to show for just a moment. She returned to the center of the pitch, glancing upward at Daisy. Daisy looked a little confused, head moving from side to side, searching for the Snitch. Daisy looked as if she was a tad over her head.

Ten minutes later, Gwenog blew the whistle, signaling the end of the scrimmage. Ginny went to the side, wiping sweat from her face. 'Weasley, you and Pike will switch,' Marion informed her, handing her a flask of water. 'Hemmings, sit this one out,' she added stiffly. 'Barnes-Dare, you're going in to Chase.' Ginny recapped the flask, and headed back to the pitch, gratified all her extra hours of practice at Hogwarts had paid off.

She kicked off, ignoring the sweat dripping into her eyes. She flew in lazy circles around the pitch, waiting for Gwenog to release the Snitch. She was caught unawares when Gwenog finally did, so startled, Ginny almost fell off her broom. She righted herself quickly, hoping no one else had noticed.

Ginny flew in expansive arcs around the pitch, looking everywhere for a glint of silver wings. She thought she saw it, and darted to intercept the Snitch, but it was merely the light reflecting off an opposing player's wedding ring. Cursing quietly, Ginny resumed her patient quest for the elusive sphere. She started weaving in figure eights, evading Bludgers, attempting to maintain her focus on the game, and not make a complete fool of herself. She had more than her position to consider. She had to consider her reputation.

And then she saw it. Hovering near the stands. Pulling up tightly, Ginny spun on the end of her broom and urged it forward, nearly begging it for more speed, until she pulled one hand from the handle of her broom, and seized it, gripping it so tightly, even the wings were unable to protrude through her fingers.

The whistle blew again and Ginny gratefully floated to the ground, limp with relief.

'Weasley, sit this one out,' Gwenog barked. Ginny handed her the Snitch and threw herself to the grass, panting, muscles quivering.

xxxxxx

Gwenog stood at one end of the pitch with the members of her team. 'So?'

Marion spoke first. 'Cut Hemmings and Pike,' she said with only a touch of ruthlessness. 'Hemmings thinks it's a solo act and Pike is… well… She's not up to snuff. Not to be a Harpy. When she played Seeker, she looked lost.'

Gwenog nodded shortly. 'And the little one?'

Marion inhaled deeply. 'Keeps her head down and does what she needs to do. Her personal life might become an issue.' She drew a circle in the grass with her toes. 'I wonder if she's able to handle it when things don't go her way.' She jerked her head toward the practice squad milling about under one set of goal posts. 'They went pretty easy on them.'

'Understood.' Gwenog turned to Helen, her senior Beater. 'Well?'

'Keep Julia. The other two, I'll leave up to you.'

Gwenog consulted her own notes and glanced at her Keeper. 'What do you have to say?'

Caroline glanced at the group of women, slumped wearily on the grass. 'There's only two. Might as well have them both back tomorrow.'

'So our cut list is Hemmings, Pike, Cooke, and Davidson,' Gwenog stated. 'Any disagreements?'

Mandy, the other Beater studied the women over Caroline's shoulder. 'Cut the first Keeper,' she said bluntly. 'She let too many Quaffles through for my taste.'

Matilda, the Seeker chuckled. 'Letting any through is too much for you, Mands.' She sobered a little. 'She's got a point. Remember the last World Cup? Catching the Snitch is well-neigh useless, unless you've got a bloody good Keeper.' She tapped Gwenog's clipboard. 'And we can always have a trial just for a Keeper later.'

Gwenog made a sound in the back of her throat and approached the apprehensive group. 'Could you stand, please?' Even then, she noted which ones scrambled to their feet, and which ones were slow to rise. 'When I call your name, step forward. Cooke. Davidson. Hemmings. Pike. Ralston.' Sondra simpered at Ginny as she stepped forward. 'Those of you in the back, get cleaned up and be back here at ten tomorrow morning. The front line, thank you for your time.'

Sondra's face paled, then flushed, leaving her skin unbecomingly mottled. 'Wh-what do you mean, "Thank you for your time"?'

The ones who would return in the morning, hung back to watch the exchange. Gwenog shifted her clipboard under her arm. 'I mean, thank you for your time. You needn't come back tomorrow.' She drew Sondra aside. 'I mean your trial with the Harpies is over,' she said quietly. 'Clear your things from the changing room and go.'

Sondra jerked her arm from Gwenog's grasp and flounced away, roughly shoving Ginny aside. Ginny bit her tongue, and rubbed her arm where Sondra's shoulder had rammed into it. 'Made it through to round two,' Julia murmured, falling into step next to Ginny. 'You're a good flier,' she offered.

'You have to be in my family,' Ginny said. 'One of my brothers was offered a trial to Seek for England. The rest of them, except one, all played for Gryffindor. All of us that played Quidditch at school were on teams that won the Cup.' She shrugged expansively. 'We play each other, and none of my brothers ever held back because I'm a girl. They were rougher, I think.' She smiled impishly. 'And I used to break into the broom shed and nick their brooms at night. Started doing that when I was six.'

Julia stared open-mouthed at Ginny. 'You're serious about all this, aren't you?'

'Aren't you?'

'Well, yeah, it's just…' Julia trailed off embarrassed. She underestimated Ginny's drive, figuring she was merely a dilettante that Gwenog wanted for the notoriety of having Harry Potter's girlfriend on the team in some capacity. 'One hears things…' she said lamely.

'Yes, they do.' Ginny seethed inwardly. She unlocked the locker with her things and grabbed her bag, heading for a vacant shower stall. She picked up a couple of towels and locked the door behind her, then stripped off her sweaty clothes, as she twisted a tap. The stall was charmed and all the outside noise suddenly ceased. Hot water instantly flowed from the showerhead and Ginny ducked under it, toes wiggling against the tile in glee. She stood under the spray for several long moments, studying a row of bottles suspended upside down against the wall. A bewildering array of soaps, shampoos, and conditioners lined the wall under the showerhead. Ginny hesitantly held her hand out under a spout and a generous dollop of shampoo gurgled into her palm. She worked it through her hair, then rinsed it, letting the water sluice through it. She used her fingers to comb a conditioner from her scalp to the ends of her hair, then coiled her hair on top of her head to get it out of her way so she could wash.

As she liberally soaped a face cloth, Ginny surveyed her arms, looking for bruises. There weren't very many, and she preened at the idea she'd managed to evade most Bludgers and all but the most flagrant fouls. She had a suspicion the practice squad had held back a bit, and was under no illusions that tomorrow might be more difficult. She washed quickly, yet thoroughly, a by product of her upbringing. When one had to share a single bathroom with two parents and four older brothers, you had to learn how to get out of the bath quickly, lest someone commence pounding on the door and wailing you were using up all the hot water. Despite the fact the water was instantaneously heated with magic.

She ducked her head under the spray, rinsing the conditioner from her hair and soap from her skin until the water ran clear. Ginny indulged in a few more moments of blissful solitude, then shut off the water. She picked up one of the towels and briskly rubbed it over her hair, then wrapped it around her head. Ginny used another towel to carefully dry the droplets of water beaded on her body. She hated dressing while her skin was damp as it made her clothes stick uncomfortably to her skin. Once she was dressed, Ginny dug through her bag, and unearthed her hairbrush. She sank down to a convenient bench carved into the marble wall and gently teased the tangles from her hair, then wound it into a loose knot, using her wand to deftly pin it into place on the back of her head. She stuffed her soiled clothing into her bag and started to open the door.

'Oh, come off it,' said one voice. 'She's only staying the extra day because other teams can use her as leverage to try and talk Harry Potter into signing with them.' Ginny stilled, hand frozen on the handle of the door.

'You mean offering her a position if he signs with them?'

'Of course,' one of the witches sniffed disdainfully. 'She's not _that_ good.'

'I don't know about that,' another witch protested. Ginny thought it might have been Julia. 'She did catch the Snitch in a reasonable amount of time,' the witch added. 'Nearly as quickly as the practice squad witch.'

'It was a slow Snitch, and you know it!'

'Sondra, what if she hears you,' cautioned a witch, attempting to shush her.

Ginny opened the door fully, stepping into the changing room, letting her gaze sweep coolly over the witches clustered on the benches. She flung her bag over her shoulder. 'I'll see you tomorrow,' she said evenly, nodding to the others who made the cut, managing to throttle her voice down to something civil.

She turned on her heel and walked at an unhurried pace from the changing room, Disapparating as the door closed behind her.

xxxxxx

Bronwyn balanced on the porch railing of Charlie's cabin, trying not to bounce anxiously. 'How do you think she did?'

Charlie muffled a yawn. 'I haven't the foggiest idea,' he muttered, giving his watch a baleful glare. She had rousted him from a sound sleep half an hour ago, much to his dismay. 'When she gets here and gives us the short version, can I go back to sleep?'

'Oh, pooh,' Bronwyn huffed. 'It's exciting!'

Charlie covered his mouth with his hand as he yawned widely. 'She's guaranteed a spot,' he muttered.

'Fine. Go back to bed,' she told him, rolling her eyes.

Charlie hauled himself from the chair, using the porch rail to leverage himself into a standing position. He leaned forward, brushing a light kiss over Bronwyn's cheek. 'You'll tell me all about it at dinner?'

'Is that an invitation?'

'Yes.' Charlie traced the arch of Bronwyn's cheekbone before dropping one more kiss at the corner of her mouth. 'See you at six?'

'All right.' Bronwyn swatted Charlie's rear as he trudged back into the cabin. She resumed her vigil waiting for Ginny to appear at the crest of the hill. A small figure emerged on the hill and strode toward Charlie's cabin. 'Ginny!' Bronwyn called, waving energetically. She met Ginny in the valley. 'How was it?' Ginny's blinding smile looked just a wee bit forced, if you were to ask Bronwyn's opinion.

'Brilliant,' Ginny enthused. She began to describe what the day had been like, telling Bronwyn how each scrimmage had unfolded. But she fervently wished for a quill and parchment so she could write it all down and owl the lot to Harry like she had at school last year. Because with Harry she could talk about how badly the talk in the changing room had shaken her. But it had been nearly a week, and as much as she wanted to talk to Harry, she didn't think he particularly wanted to talk to her. 'I'm glad I'm not in Gwenog's shoes,' she concluded. 'The other two Chasers she kept for tomorrow are really good. And they play another position competently, which is really what Gwenog wants.'

'Sounds like you had a good day, then,' Bronwyn observed. 'So did you manage to find a flat yesterday? You didn't say at dinner.'

'Yes, I did.' Ginny twisted the strap of her bag. 'Would you like to see it?'

Bronwyn smiled. 'I would.' She gestured toward Ginny's things. 'Let's put your bag and broom inside first. Are you hungry? Dinner's not going to be for a couple more hours at least.'

Ginny's stomach rumbled loudly, reminding her of Ron's. She flushed in chagrin. 'I could eat.'

'We'll stop at my place on the way out,' Bronwyn promised. She glanced at her watch. 'Da likes a low tea when he's working the early shift. So do I, actually,' she said conspiratorially. 'It's usually a few scones or biscuits and tea.'

'That sounds really good,' Ginny sighed. She carefully hung her broom on the hooks inside the door and tossed her bag into the corner. 'Let's go.'

xxxxxx

'What do you think?' Ginny asked, only a little nervously.

Bronwyn spun in a slow circle. 'It's small,' she said dubiously.

Ginny shrugged. 'I only need a place to eat and sleep,' she argued. 'It's not as if I'll have the time to do much entertaining.'

Bronwyn laughed lightly. 'Don't get defensive, Ginny. If it's only you, then it ought to suit very well.' Ginny looked away quickly, going toward one of the windows. 'It is going to be just you, isn't it?'

'Most of the time,' Ginny mumbled. She remembered how carefully Harry had chosen the furniture for his flat and the pride that fairly beamed from him as he showed it to her. He hadn't merely wanted a place to keep his clothes and sleep. He wanted a home. Ginny was more than aware she wasn't quite there yet. As far as she was concerned, she had a home at the Burrow, and always would.

'Is there something you want to talk about?' Bronwyn asked gently.

Ginny shook her head. 'Not a thing.'

xxxxxx

Ron stood outside the visitor's entrance to the Ministry, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. He hadn't been back inside the Ministry since that fateful day nearly two years ago, and the memories of what it had been like were still clearly etched in his brain. He slowly took in a deep breath and determinedly stepped into the telephone box, then punched the numbers six, two, four, four, two. 'Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state the purpose of your visit.'

'Ron Weasley. I'm here to visit Harry Potter.' A small silver badge tinkled as it landed in the coin slot. Ron pinned it to the front of his shirt and closed his eyes as the telephone box began to descend underground.

'The Atrium. Please have your wand inspected as you exit the lift.' The soothing disembodied voice shook Ron from his reverie and he exited the lift with more than a little apprehension. The Atrium was nothing like he remembered. Water burbled from the wall and flowed in a curving stream that meandered around the floor. Names were carved into the glossy black marble, a silent testament to the lives lost in the fight against Dark magic. He approached the wizard sitting behind a brass scale and handed him his wand.

'Chestnut and dragon heartstring. Nine and a quarter inches,' the wizard intoned, tearing a small strip of parchment from the base of the scale and impaling it on a spike. 'Go on through.'

Ron went to the lift and gingerly closed the gate and hit the button for Level Two. In a few moments he left the lift and stood uncertainly on the threshold, wondering which direction to turn. 'Can I help you?' a witch asked impatiently.

'I'm looking for Harry Potter,' Ron told her, eyeing the witch with a repressed shudder. He could see her badge, pinned to the front of her robes. _C. Gibson_. Harry's much detested Head.

'That way,' Gibson sighed. 'Go into that maze and take the second left. His cubicle is the third one on the left.'

'Erm. Thanks.' Ron quickly walked away from the woman. She reminded him too much of Umbridge. He wandered for several minutes, peering into cubicles, ducking out, flustered, when none of them proved to be Harry's. At last, he found the right one. 'Fancy a bite?'

Harry looked up at Ron, glancing over the rims of his glasses. 'What time is it?'

'Nearly six.'

'I guess.' Harry closed the file on his desk and shoved it into a drawer. He charmed the drawer and stood, stretching the kinks from his back. 'That bloody chair is going to be the death of me,' he grumbled.

'Heard from Gin?' Ron asked quietly.

'No,' Harry replied shortly. He shouldered his bag and led Ron from the tangle of cubicles with far more ease than Ron had in navigating it.

'Do you want to hear from her?' Ron ventured. He thought Harry's shoulders stiffened.

'Only if she apologizes before she says anything else,' Harry told Ron.

'Are you sure you want to be with her?' Ron blurted. Harry's head whipped around so quickly, his glasses slipped down his nose.

'What sort of question is that?' he demanded.

'It's a fair one,' Ron retorted. 'Why are with her?'

'B-b-b-because!' Harry spluttered.

Ron didn't reply, but waited until they were walking toward the Underground station that would take them to Harry's flat. Once seated on the train, Ron picked up the thread of conversation. 'You know, I wasn't that put out when you started dating Ginny,' he mused. 'Didn't really see it coming. She'd all but given up on you, and you never really showed any interest in that direction.'

'None that you know,' Harry huffed.

Ron shrugged. 'I thought you and Luna…' He scooted down the seat a bit. 'I mean, it's just the two of you got on so well.'

'What are you doing?' Harry asked incredulously. 'Trying to make me end it with Ginny once and for all?'

Ron rubbed his hand over his face. Hermione would handle this so much better. 'No,' he admitted. 'But why did you go for Gin?' he repeated. More than once he'd wondered if it was because Ginny was his sister, and Harry was subconsciously trying to become an official part of the family.

'I don't have to justify my relationship with Ginny to you,' Harry declared.

'Yes, you do,' Ron stated emphatically. 'She's my sister. And I'll be damned if she goes through all that again.'

Harry stood up. 'Stop's coming up,' he muttered. Ron joined him at the short queue to exit the train and jostled his way up the stairs to the street. Harry's thoughts swirled chaotically. Was it merely because Ginny represented a way to be part of the Weasleys forever if he married her? Or did he love Ginny for herself? 'Oh,' he breathed. 'That's what she meant…'

'What?'

'Nothing.' Harry said. He glanced at Ron, then kept his gaze on the pavement. Ginny was the first person he wanted to talk to at the end of the day. He could count on her to hear him out – most of the time – and unlike Hermione and Ron, didn't feel the need to dance around the issue or talk it to death. And she understood. She understood instinctively how he valued his privacy, and much he yearned to be accepted for his own merits, and not because of what he had done in the past. She could be maddeningly stubborn, of course, and had a blazing temper, but Harry readily admitted his own faults, and Ginny's were no worse than his. But above all, Ginny made him feel grounded like nobody else. And the vision of her walking down the aisle on Arthur's arm, wearing a blindingly white dress that had haunted him since Bill's wedding had shifted into something far more palatable to him. No longer did Ginny dance toward a faceless man. She was joining Harry under a marquee. And none of those feelings were in any way connected to Ginny's status as Ron's little sister. 'She makes my life make sense,' he admitted. 'And not because she's your sister.' He opened the door of his building. 'But she still needs to apologize,' he said firmly.


	5. Remembering Icharus

Harry stifled a soft belch of repletion, gazing at the last forlorn slice of pizza. 'Do you want it?' he groaned, shifting a little to adjust his trousers.

Ron shook his head. 'Nah.' He glanced around Harry's kitchen. 'Could do with something sweet, if you've got biscuits.'

Harry pulled his wand from his pocket and pointed it at a cupboard. '_Accio_.' A tin flew into his hand and he offered it to Ron. 'Where do you put it?' he demanded.

'Mum always said I had hollow legs,' Ron said through a mouthful of chocolate biscuit.

Harry Vanished the pizza box. 'I can believe that.'

Ron nibbled the edges of another biscuit. 'So about Gin…' He set the biscuit down. 'I just want to know that you're with her for the right reasons,' he said soberly. 'I mean, I know what I've seen. Even I'm not that thick,' he said self-deprecatingly. 'It's just when she laid that kiss on you…'

'Which one?'

'Common room, her bedroom on your seventeenth birthday… Take your pick.'

Harry leaned back in his chair. '_I _kissed _her _in the common room,' he corrected. 'She kissed me on my birthday. And this conversation's a bit late, don't you think? ,' he added deliberately checking his watch. 'Why didn't you ask me why I started dating her again _last_ year?'

'Yeah, but a year ago, you didn't ask Gin to move in with you,' Ron said pointedly. 'A year ago, you weren't conscious of anything else around you and we were afraid you'd gone round the bend.' He toyed with the cork from a bottle of butterbeer. 'Why didn't you say anything when we were in school?' he asked in hurt bewilderment.

'Because I thought you were going to bash my teeth in,' Harry confessed. 'I heard every comment you ever made about Michael and Dean when they dated Ginny. And she's your _sister_. I can't talk to you about how she makes me feel. It's bit weird, to be honest.'

'You've got that right.' Ron reached for another biscuit. 'So what are you going to do? Wait for her to make the first move?'

'I don't suppose you'd lend me that Deluminator of yours…?'

Ron laughed and shook his head. 'No. You don't need it.' He stretched his arms over his head and then rested them on the table. 'You want some advice about Gin?'

'Can't hurt.'

'Just hear her out. Whatever she has to say, no matter how barmy it is, just let her get it out. When you're the youngest, nobody ever listens to what you have to say.' Ron paused significantly. 'You know… the way _you_ like for people to listen to what you have to say, and for them to realize you know your own mind.'

Harry's mouth opened, then shut. He reached for his butterbeer and took a long sip. 'Hermione's rubbing off on you,' he commented.

'Bound to happen sooner or later,' Ron replied, completely unperturbed. 'I'm still holding out hope that she'll come round and support the Cannons. Or at least go to a game without a book in her bag…'

'Good luck with that one,' Harry snorted.

'Tell me about it,' Ron chuckled, relieved the conversation had taken on a lighter tone. 'They're having a do Friday night, the Cannons. Harold Shively sent me a couple of tickets. Want to go?'

'Ask Hermione first. She might actually enjoy your company, if not the Quidditch talk.'

'I did,' Ron responded promptly. 'You know that look she gets when you ask her a silly question? Where she does that thing with her eyebrow?' Ron waggled his right brow up and down.

'Too well, I'm afraid.'

'I swear McGonagall taught it to her… Like I ought to have known better than to ask.'

'Think we'll ever understand women?' Harry wondered.

'We'd have better odds earning an Outstanding in Potions,' Ron retorted.

xxxxxx

George dropped his toothbrush in the small holder and yawned widely as he trudged to bed. Katie was already snuggled in the pillows, bedding pulled up to her ears. He gratefully fell into the bed, sighing as his body molded itself to the mattress. This summer was possibly the busiest he'd ever seen since the shop opened. Word seemed to have spread past the borders of Britain and families from all over Europe were turning Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes into a must-see stop on their holiday in England. 'I have got to learn another language,' George murmured. 'More French than _voulez-vous coucher avec moi_ , at least.'

'I would hope you're not saying that to customers,' Katie giggled.

George rolled over and gently tweaked Katie's nose. 'I don't fancy dying in my sleep.'

'Did you and Fred have plans for the flat above the shop?' Katie asked, fiddling with the edge of her pillowcase. 'Maybe expand up there?'

George muttered something Katie couldn't quite hear. 'No,' he said firmly. 'We can barely handle the business we have.'

'So there's no reason why Ron can't live there?'

'No.' George turned his back to Katie and yanked the bedding up to his shoulders. 'It's all I have left, yeah? I give that up…' His shoulders hitched. 'I give that up, and I don't have anything…'

'It doesn't have to be a shrine,' Katie persisted, knowing she was treading on shaky ground.

George flung the bedding back. 'We've been through this,' he hissed. 'I'm not ready yet, all right?' He heaved himself from the bed, exhaustion gone. 'I don't have a problem with Ron moving in there. Just. Not. Now.' He stomped from the bedroom, grabbing his clothes. The door of the flat opened, then slammed shut. Katie jerked as the sound echoed through the flat and shifted until she lay on her back, staring at the ceiling.

George hurled himself down the stairs and into the darkened street. He strode toward the shop, hurt anger simmering just under the surface of his skin. He jabbed his wand at the door, opening it. As he passed the front counter, George grabbed a clipboard and a pencil. He plopped to the floor of the back room, and pulled out a neatly labeled carton from the bottom shelf. Inventory. It had been his refuge for the last several months. He didn't have to think while he recorded what products and ingredients they had and how much of it was left. But this too was different. When Fred had been alive, ingredients and products had been categorized by what they did. Ron alphabetized them. Ingredients on the shelves against the back wall, products near the curtained-off door. George would be the first to admit that change was inevitable, but it felt like too much too soon. And even though the deadline for Ron to decide to stay or leave had passed, Ron hadn't said a word, but set about trying to come up with something new to add to the Skiving Snackbox line. It seemed as if he was there to stay.

For several minutes, he sat hunched on the floor, the forgotten pencil and clipboard next to him. George unfolded himself and made his way to the narrow stairs that led to the small flat above the shop. The last time he'd been in there, Fred had been alive. He slowly walked up the stairs and hesitated at the door, before extending his hand and twisting the knob. The door swung open and George stood just inside the doorway, gazing into the dim room. '_Lumos_,' he murmured, and trained the narrow beam of light on the floor, sweeping it upward. It illuminated the outlines of the sofa with the dodgy spring that liked to stab unwary victims in the kidneys. They kept meaning to repair it, but had never gotten around to it. The small table with two chairs where they ate their meals. The tiny kitchen. The door on the other side of the room was ajar. George couldn't see into it, but it had been their bedroom. Larger than their room at the Burrow, but set up the same way – two beds on opposite walls, a bureau for each of them, a single table between the beds with a lamp. The air smelled dusty and closed-in. George stepped back and gently closed the door. 'Night, Fred,' he whispered, then returned to his abandoned inventory list. George realized he was being completely unfair to Ron. All the poor bugger wanted was to get out of the Burrow and live on his own like the rest of them, and here was a perfect space, just going to waste. But George couldn't help it. It was the last thing he had.

xxxxxx

Ginny awoke before the alarm could start ringing and switched it off. In what had become habit the last several weeks, she set her feet on the floor, stretched, and stripped her nightdress off, trading it for a ragged pair of jog pants and a t-shirt , before donning her trainers. She shook out her loose plait, and bound the mass of hair into a ponytail before taking a deep breath and darting out of the cabin for her morning run. She headed for the entrance, running slowly – little more than a very fast walk. She focused on putting one foot in front of the other, over and over until she had completed one circuit around the living quarters of the reservation. This was more about waking up tired muscles and putting her thoughts together for the coming day than anything else.

The remarks from the changing room still stung. They made Ginny all the more determined to make it on her merits. After all, her brothers never gave her any quarter and she'd never asked for any. Ginny almost hoped they played against the regulars. If they did, and Ginny played well, it might put the rumors to rest. She slowed to a walk, and made her way back to the cabin, well before Charlie, using the time to shower and dress. By the time he walked through the door of the cabin, Ginny had cobbled together breakfast for them both. 'Morning,' Charlie mumbled, reaching for the pot of tea. 'Did you put out the honey for the porridge?'

Ginny made a face at him, and flicked her wand at the cupboard. The pot of honey dropped next to his elbow with a _thump_. 'How was your shift?'

'They're hatchlings. They eat, sleep, and poo.'

'Sounds like fun.'

Charlie chuckled, a spoon of porridge halfway to his mouth. 'Loads. Even more when they're teething.' He ate quietly for a moment. 'How'd it go yesterday? You didn't say much at dinner.'

'Fine.' Ginny hitched a shoulder. 'I did all right.'

'Only all right?'

Ginny snorted. 'Made some goals, caught a few Snitches, didn't run my mouth.'

'Ah.'

She sipped her tea. 'Did better than the practice squad Seeker.'

Charlie raised a brow. 'They were going easy on you,' he scoffed.

'Probably,' Ginny agreed.

'Think they'll be harder today?'

'Wouldn't you be?'

Charlie bobbed his head in acquiescence, but thought to himself, _Much more than you can imagine…_ It was something they did on dragon reservations. Come down hard on the new dragonkeepers, give them the challenging schedules and dragons – all well supervised, of course – to see if they'd manage to hold up under the pressure. More than one brash kid had shown up, boasting of how he'd change things, only to crumple when faced with an irate Hungarian Horntail. He rather thought Ginny was made of sterner stuff, but he hoped more than anything that she was able to handle whatever the Harpies threw at her.

xxxxxx

Gwenog stood in the middle of a cluster of Harpies. 'Don't make it easy on them,' she stated. 'I want to see what they can really do.'

Mandy's face lit up. 'So you want us to play like Falmouth?'

Gwenog nodded. 'Don't try to kill them, but throw every foul on them you can imagine.'

Matilda glanced over her shoulder at the women warming up for the trial. 'Who's refereeing?'

'I am,' Gwenog said. 'Come on, let's go.' One by one, the players kicked off, blurs of dark green-and-gold robes. Gwenog pointed her wand to her throat. 'Weasley, Wellington, Barnes-Dare, Peters, Adams, Mason, and Steadman! Take your positions!' Her voice echoed around the stadium. The seven players took their places, waiting anxiously for Gwenog to release the Snitch.

Even after the retired, Ginny would remember it as the most brutal game she'd ever played.

She intercepted the Quaffle and began to make her way to the goalposts. A Bludger came out from nowhere and slammed into her side. Gasping for breath, she bobbled the Quaffle, but managed to hang on to it. She had slowed enough for two of the opposing Chasers to close in on her, crowding her broom. Elbows pummeled her, and one connected with her nose. Ginny leaned over the handle of her broom and urged it to go a little faster, ignoring the blood trickling over her mouth. She pulled up sharply, then dove, trying to shake the Chasers. She managed to create enough space to move freely and pulled her arm back, flicking her wrist in an under-and-up motion, like she was skipping stones.

To her amazement, the Quaffle bounced several times, just like the stones would in the River Otter, then arced through a goalpost. 'Bloody hell, it worked…' she breathed.

Right before the third opposing Chaser body checked her, nearly knocking her from her broom.

For Ginny, it was the high point of the game. Gwenog flew right next to her, and Ginny was certain she'd seen the Chaser foul her. Gwenog met Ginny's outraged gaze, then deliberately looked away. Ginny's mouth fell open in shock. By the time a coherent argument came into her head, Gwenog was gone. Ginny closed her mouth, and clenched her teeth. Obviously, Gwenog wasn't going to call fouls. 'If that's the way you want to play it,' Ginny muttered, before she swooped back into the game.

xxxxxx

Ginny sat numbly on a bench in the changing room. Several bruises blossomed over her arms in hues of blue and purple. Her knuckles were scraped and bloody. She could feel scratches throb on her face and neck. Her ankle was puffy and sore and she could feel bruises that matched the ones on her arms on her shins. Had she been in a state to notice any of the other players, she would have seen they were in no better shape than she. Without bothering to shower, she wearily reached for her bag and started to stand. Before she could leave, however, Gwenog sailed into the changing room, looking indecently put together. 'Report back here at ten tomorrow morning. We'll have the final placements ready for you.' Indistinct murmurs replied and Ginny hauled herself to her feet. 'Weasley, let the mediwitch look at your injuries before you leave,' Gwenog told her sternly.

'They're just bruises,' Ginny said defensively. 'I'll be fine.'

Gwenog's lips pursed disapprovingly. 'Have it your way, then.'

Ginny trudged out of the changing room, wondering if she had to energy to Apparate to the reservation without Splinching herself. Deciding to risk it, she turned, wincing as the motion twisted her ankle.

The walk from the entrance to Charlie's cabin had never seemed longer.

xxxxxx

Bronwyn had the door of the infirmary propped open to catch the afternoon breeze. It was near the end of her shift, and she found herself eagerly waiting for Ginny to return from the trial. A shadow flickered over the entrance of the building and Bronwyn curiously investigated the source. Ginny limped by, head bowed. 'Ginny!' Bronwyn called. Ginny stopped and glanced up. Bronwyn squinted a little, then caught her breath. The girl looked as if she'd been beaten within an inch of her life. Bronwyn scurried to Ginny. 'Are you all right? What happened?'

'Game,' Ginny said shortly. 'Referee didn't call fouls.'

'Come inside and let me have a look at you,' Bronwyn ordered.

'I'm fine.'

'At least let me do something about those scrapes on your hands.'

Reluctantly, Ginny allowed Bronwyn to guide her to a table and hoisted herself on it. Bronwyn approached with a basket in one hand and her wand in the other. She examined Ginny, flicking her wand at her arms and face. 'Doesn't look too serious,' she pronounced. Bronwyn dug a tin from her basket dabbed a bright green ointment over the abrasions on Ginny's knuckles. 'You're just like Charlie, you know,' she remarked idly.

Ginny snorted. 'I'm nothing like Charlie.'

Smoothing a plaster over one of the deeper scrapes, Bronwyn shook her head. 'You are.'

'Charlie's so... so quiet, and I'm not.'

'Stubborn, the both of you,' Bronwyn corrected. 'Neither one of you can stand to ask for help or be reminded that you might need it. And by the time you do, an easily treatable scratch has ballooned into serious injury.'

Ginny's lips pursed. 'Asking for help,' she began, 'is admitting you can't handle what you've been given to do.'

'Asking for help is realizing you can't do everything. You have to know where your limits are. So you can better ask someone to assist you in navigating them. It's the mature thing to do,' she said pointedly. Bronwyn turned her attentions to the bruises on Ginny's arms. 'It took me nearly losing a patient to understand that.'

'Did people think you got your position here because your father oversees the reservation?'

Bronwyn nodded. 'At first. Then, they realized I was a damn good Healer. And it's awfully hard to get a Healer to come out here and do a bit of everything from nursing children through bouts of dragon pox to helping deliver babies to treating life-threatening burns.' She scooped the pale blue salve onto a finger and gently rubbed it over the middle of the bruise, working her way out to the edges. 'Sometimes, you just have to keep your mouth shut and let your actions speak for themselves. Let the people who think you can't do your job look all the more foolish for implying you're only there because of someone else's reputation.'

'They kept saying that. Whispering when they thought I couldn't hear them. When I could hear them.' Ginny's throat tightened. 'I'm only getting a trial because I'm Harry Potter's girlfriend.' Her face went taut for a moment and she bent her head. 'I didn't,' she added defiantly. 'I got it because I'm bloody good. I just have to prove it to them. And I have to do it without it looking as if I'm being favored. What's so hard to understand about that? To want to make something of myself on my own? To be me and not just Bill-Charlie-Percy-Fred-George-and-Ron's baby sister?' Two fat tears trickled down her face and she swiped her cheeks over the shoulder of her t-shirt. 'Why can't he see I want what he's got for himself...?' she said plaintively, almost too softly for Bronwyn to hear.

'Who?'

Ginny hesitated. Maybe she could talk about it with Bronwyn. She was dying to talk to someone, and so far, Bronwyn was one of the only people she knew that didn't have a vested interest in seeing her make up with Harry. 'Harry asked me to move in with him,' she told Bronwyn.

'Obviously, seeing as how you let a flat, you didn't want to,' Bronwyn stated.

Ginny shook her head. 'No. Not right now.'

Bronwyn patted the edge of the examination table. 'Feet here, please.' She gently rolled up the cuffs of Ginny's jog pants. 'Just going to make sure nothing's broken, eh?'

Ginny continued, as if the older woman hadn't spoken. 'I just don't quite understand how he can think it's all right for him to be on his own for a while, and not me. I want to actually grow up and figure out what it means to be an adult, before I make a rather adult sort of decision.'

'Is that what you told him?'

Ginny toyed with the laces of her trainers. 'No. I bit his head off and we had an awful row. Well, what amounts to a row for us.' Her brows drew together briefly. 'We're not speaking at the moment. Or rather, he's not speaking to me...'

'You need to tell him,' Bronwyn said. She flicked her wand at Ginny's ankle, wrapping it snugly in an elastic bandage. 'It's just a sprain. But try not to run any marathons for the next few days.'

'How do I say it when he won't listen?'

'You have to make him listen.' Bronwyn helped Ginny down from the table. 'Go have a bit of a rest before dinner.' As Ginny trudged to the door, Bronwyn said, 'Everyone needs someone. Friend, lover... Everyone needs someone to whom you can lay bare your soul. And it doesn't make you weak. And if you're worried about being sublimated in the relationship, I suggest you take a peek at the relationships of people you admire. Even players you admire. I'll lay odds on that they all have some sort of support system. Real relationships don't survive very well if one person dominates the other. And they certainly don't survive if you're not honest with yourself.'

xxxxxx

Harry tapped the point of his quill against the sheet of parchment on his desk. Had Ron not asked why he was with Ginny, the question would never have occurred to Harry at all. In Harry's opinion, Ginny being Ron's sister rather complicated things rather than making them easier. If things soured between Ginny and him, so many other relationships would suffer. However, he didn't view his relationship with her through such a lens. Harry had gotten quite a thorough education about being with someone for all the wrong reasons during Ron's ill-fated fling with Lavender Brown and his own disastrous attempt to date Cho Chang. He wasn't going to stay with Ginny just to satisfy some need he had to belong to someone.

'Go home,' a voice said over the top of his cubicle. Harry looked up to see Emma Greene, an Auror he occasionally worked with, mock-glaring at him. 'You're making the rest of us look like lazy gits.'

'I was just finishing something,' Harry stammered, pushing a pile of parchment into a neat stack and dropping it into a drawer. He grabbed his bag and followed Emma to the lifts. Emma didn't know Harry very well, but she was astute enough to recognize the signs of a male trying desperately to hide visible signs of distress.

'Something the matter?' she asked.

'No,' Harry told her. 'Just a long day…' He rode the lift to the Atrium and took the Floo to his flat. He let his bag fall next to the fireplace, and headed for the kitchen, studying the contents of his refrigerator with disinterest. He slammed the refrigerator door shut and retreated to his bedroom, flinging his clothes to the floor, and crawling into the bed, and pulling the bedding over his head. Sunday evening, he hadn't been worried that Ginny would return, but now, after nearly five days of no word from Ginny, he was starting to worry.

He had no idea how the trial was going, how she liked Holyhead, or the Harpies. He wanted to write to her, but had no idea if she would actually read the letter or toss it into the fire. He didn't even know when she would be home, and now with the prolonged silence, he was starting to wonder if she had decided to stay away.

xxxxxx

Gwenog gathered the senior members of the team in her cluttered office. 'Thoughts?'

Caroline fingered the clipboard in front of Gwenog. 'Bridget's all right as a Keeper. I wish she played Beater better, but she'll be okay on the practice squad. Claire's ready to move up to the Reserves.'

'Anyone else with an opinion?'

Marion heaved a sigh. 'I'd rather not have a separate trial for a Keeper, if we can avoid it.'

Helen nodded. 'It'll make us look bad.'

'So, Claire's shifting up to the Reserves and we're signing Bridget to the practice squad.' Gwenog made a notation on her list. 'Beater?'

'We only need one Reserve,' Helen said. 'Julia.'

'Agree,' Marion added. 'Kimmie can fill the practice slot.'

'Well, that was quick,' Gwenog muttered. 'What about the Seeker for practice?'

Marion shrugged. 'None of them?'

Caroline leaned back in her chair. 'Samantha?'

'I suppose… She might get better…' Helen murmured.

Gwenog made another note on her list. 'She _was_ a bit faster than the other two…'

'Not as fast as Ginny,' Caroline snorted.

'And that brings us to the Chasers…' Gwenog said.

'Ginny's good,' Marion said. 'I just…' She hesitated.

'What?' Gwenog asked.

Marion looked at her callused hands. 'I wonder if she's able to really integrate into the team…'

Gwenog sat back. 'Why?'

'You saw how she refused to let someone look at her injuries,' Marion stated. 'She kept to herself, with the exception of a few words with Julia.'

'Aimee and Felicia aren't as good,' Caroline countered. She caught Gwenog's attention. 'We can work with Ginny,' she said reassuringly. 'When we go to Sweden next month.'

'Okay.' Gwenog quickly scribbled on her clipboard. 'The little one for Reserves and Wellington and Barnes-Dare on practice.' She sighed and studied the team's roster for the next season. 'I hope we're not putting in a position she can't handle.'

Caroline patted Gwenog's shoulder. 'If you didn't think she couldn't handle it, you wouldn't have offered her a contract in the first place.'

xxxxxx

Ginny was awake and dressed well before the sun rose. She walked out of the reservation and roamed Holyhead, mulling over what Bronwyn had told her yesterday. The one couple she wanted to emulate was her parents. Molly's place as a housewife and mother didn't keep Arthur from treating her with the utmost respect. Her parents were a team. They made decisions together, even when their lives were at a nadir, they made those decisions together. She killed time getting breakfast from a small coffee shop near her flat, lingering over one last cup of tea before heading to the Harpies' stadium. Ginny joined the cluster of women, waiting for Gwenog to post the roster.

Precisely at ten, Gwenog tacked a list to the bulletin board and stood aside. Everyone rushed forward, but Ginny hung back, waiting until they drifted away. She took the few steps forward she needed to be able to see the list.

A smile spread over her face.

xxxxxx

Ginny stood in the kitchen of Charlie's cabin, tapping her chin thoughtfully. She wasn't going to bother with writing. With Harry, being direct was the best course of action. That, and a freshly-baked treacle tart. Charlie happened to have the ingredients in his cupboards, and figuring he wouldn't mind – besides, she could always replace them later – she set about making one, using her mother's recipe. Once it had cooled, Ginny opened the bedroom door. 'Charlie?'

'Wha…?'

'I'm going…' She crossed to the bed containing her groggy older brother. 'Thanks for everything,' she told him, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

'Wha'd you get?'

'Reserves.'

'Tol' you…'

'Coming to lunch Sunday?'

'Gonna try…'

'Good. Bring Bronwyn sometime.' Ginny skipped out before Charlie could wake up and process what she'd said. She picked up her bag, broom, and carefully scooped up the box containing the treacle tart, then left the cabin, heading for the infirmary. 'I was wondering,' she began, as she walked through the door, 'if I might impose on you one more time…'

Bronwyn grinned. 'What do you need?'

'A Side-Along to King's Cross?' Ginny asked hopefully. 'I'm afraid I don't know it well enough to Apparate without being seen, and I don't want to wake up Charlie.'

'What's in the box?'

'Peace offering.'

The Healer for the next shift walked into the infirmary, and Bronwyn held out a hand to Ginny. 'Want me to hold something?' Wordlessly, Ginny handed her the tart, gripping her broom firmly in her free hand. They Apparated to an alley near the station and Bronwyn peered at it. 'Do you know where to go from here?' Ginny nodded. She had made Hermione teach her the route to Harry's flat until she could picture it in her head. There was a train that went directly from King's Cross to the Oxford Circus station. The Victoria Line. Bronwyn tilted Ginny's chin up. 'Do you know what you're going to say?'

'I thought I'd start with hello,' Ginny replied.

'That's a start.' Bronwyn chuckled. 'It was a pleasure meeting you, Ginny. Come visit when you can.'

'I will,' Ginny promised. She ducked into the stream of people and got on the train, keeping her eyes glued to the doors, jumping to her feet when the disembodied voice chimed, 'Oxford Circus.' She quickly walked to Harry's building, slipping in after someone and running up the staircase to the fifth floor. Harry wasn't home yet, so she sat on the doormat, with the treacle tart balanced on her knees.

After a few hours, Ginny heard Harry's footsteps on the stairs, sighing in relief that he didn't use his Floo connection that evening. He froze on the landing, taking in the sight of her, blocking his front door. After a few agonizingly long moments, he strode toward her. Ginny scrambled to her feet, holding out the tart. Harry's bright green eyes flicked down to it and back to Ginny, saying nothing. Ginny bit her lip and looked down, slightly dejected. 'I'm sorry,' she murmured, so softly Harry almost missed it. 'I shouldn't have shouted at you. I want you to treat me like an adult, so I ought to behave like one.' Harry nodded and edged around Ginny, tapping the doorknob with his wand. He opened the door and walked inside, closing it quietly behind him. Ginny's shoulders slumped, and she blinked back a sudden sting of tears.

The door opened behind her and a hand snaked out, taking the treacle tart from her. 'I can't eat this all by myself. Are you going to come in and help me out or what?' Harry said.


	6. Overtures

_Ginny scrambled to her feet, holding out the tart. Harry's bright green eyes flicked down to it and back to Ginny, saying nothing. Ginny bit her lip and looked down, slightly dejected. 'I'm sorry,' she murmured, so softly Harry almost missed it. 'I shouldn't have shouted at you. I want you to treat me like an adult, so I ought to behave like one.' Harry nodded and edged around Ginny, tapping the doorknob with his wand. He opened the door and walked inside, closing it quietly behind him. _

xxxxxx

Harry leaned against the closed door, heart pounding. Isn't that what he wanted? For Ginny to apologize? 'Not like that…' he sighed. He didn't want Ginny to feel like she had to crawl back to him like a child caught doing something naughty. That wasn't the Ginny he'd fallen in love with. It was obvious she'd come straight to Soho from Wales. Her bag and broom were propped next to the door. He pushed himself off the door and opened it, reaching out for the treacle tart Ginny held balanced in her hands. 'I can't eat this all by myself,' he told her. 'Are you going to come in and help me out or what?'

Ginny grabbed her bag and broom and followed Harry into the flat. He shut the door and continued into the kitchen, waving his wand at the windows, opening them to the early evening breeze, then cast a few Cooling charms to alleviate the summer warmth that draped the flat. He looked over his shoulder to see Ginny hanging back bashfully by the door. For some reason that irritated Harry. 'Want some tea?' he asked, far more brusquely than he intended.

'Yes, thank you,' Ginny said, still wringing her hands a little. She took a tentative step forward. 'I…' she began, then stopped.

'Come sit,' Harry said, setting the tart on the table. Ginny settled on one of the chairs as if it might be yanked out from under her bum at any moment. Thoughts ran wildly through her head. She didn't quite know how to start, and Harry wasn't helping matters. He rattled the cups and plates as he pulled them from the cupboards, making the cutlery clatter when he set them on the table. Harry was waiting for Ginny to continue with what she'd begun in the corridor. He took his time filling the teakettle with fresh water, and set it aside, while he filled the teapot with hot water, and swirled it around, drawing out the process as much as he could. He tapped the kettle with his wand, and leaned against the counter, waiting for it boil. Ginny squirmed with discomfiture at his silence, the way he crossed his arms defensively over his chest, handle of his wand tapping against his bicep. Muddy yellow sparks shot out of the tip every other tap, and Ginny felt her shoulders shrink inward a little more. The kettle whistled softly, and Harry dumped the water from the teapot and spooned loose tea into before pouring the boiling water from the kettle into it. While the tea steeped, he cut the tart into slices.

Ginny gripped the edge of the seat of her chair, watching silently while Harry dished up two slices of treacle tart and poured tea. The few times she'd been in the flat, she'd never felt like a guest before. A week ago, she would have let herself into the flat, and made the tea herself. It was such a simple activity, one her parents did with motions so practiced they were automatic. It was a picture she refused to let herself think about during the war, but crept into her dreams. A week ago, they would have been talking about their respective days. She scrutinized Harry, studying the dark circles under his eyes. Had he been tossing restlessly, having nightmares again?

Harry interrupted her internal monologue by pushing a plate across the table to her and pulled the other one closer, slicing off a bite. He let it sit on his tongue, a look of surprise on his face. 'You made this?'

'Yes.'

'It's good,' he said in evident astonishment.

'It's Mum's recipe.'

'I didn't know you could bake like this,' Harry said in obvious surprise.

'I don't have the opportunity to do it every often,' Ginny confessed. 'Between Mum and Ron…' Silence spooled between them once more. Frustrated, Ginny pushed her plate aside and wrapped her hands around the mug of tea. She stared into the depths of the tea and ran a fingertip around the rim of the mug. 'I need you,' she said, again so quietly, Harry almost had to ask her to repeat herself. 'I don't like to admit I need someone else. Not for help or anything.' Her fingers tightened around the mug. 'I don't like to admit I can't do it all by myself.' She looked at Harry through lowered lashes. 'I know this is going to sound incredibly selfish, but…' Ginny lifted the mug and sipped the scalding tea. 'It isn't that I don't think about being with you,' she began shakily. _This is so much harder now than it was in my head while I was waiting for him to come home…_ 'I need to grow up,' she said simply. 'I need to grow up and figure out what it means to be an adult before I _am_ one.'

'You're right, that does sound selfish,' Harry muttered, belatedly remembering Ron's advice to let Ginny have her say. He bit his tongue and crammed a large bite of treacle tart into his mouth before he said anything else.

Ginny lifted her head then, and squarely met Harry's gaze. 'I love you too much to put either of us into a situation neither of us are ready to handle.'

'But…'

Ginny's hand slashed through the air, effective as a Silencing charm. 'You're in this place where you're ready to settle and move on with your life, and I can't blame you for that after what you've lived through, but I'm not there yet. Do you want me to learn to resent you, because you had the opportunity to figure out how to navigate your life and I didn't? Or do you want me to be fully involved with your life? To be able to make decisions without everyone chasing after me with butterfly nets?'

Harry set his fork down and set the plate aside, folding his arms on the table. 'So what are you saying?'

'The same thing I said in November,' Ginny sighed. 'I want to be with you, but you and I need to spend time with each other…' A worried frown marred the smooth skin between her brows.

Harry pulled his plate in front of him once more, and sliced off another bite. Then another. 'Saturdays,' he said suddenly.

'What?'

'You won't have training on Saturdays. I want Saturdays. Just you, me, and when I have him, Teddy.'

Ginny buried her nose in her steaming cup. 'Saturdays?'

'You can come here as early as you want. But you're mine until Sunday lunch at the Burrow.'

'I think we can manage that…' Ginny leaned back in the chair. 'I didn't stop thinking about you the entire time,' she confessed. 'I didn't realize how much I need to hear your opinion on things, or how much I missed hearing about what you're doing. Listening to what you deal with puts it all into perspective. I just throw a ball through a goalpost. I wanted to write to you about the trials, but… But I didn't think you'd bother reading the letter…'

Harry mashed the tines of his fork into a bit of his tart. 'Same,' he muttered. 'It's why I didn't… write… after I cooled off…' He set the fork down. 'So? How were the trials?'

'They were… Interesting.' Ginny sipped her cooling tea. 'They – the other women at the trial – kept saying things when they thought I couldn't hear them.' Harry saw the way Ginny stiffened, and developed a good theory about what they said. That Ginny was only there because of her efforts during the war. What she said made his stomach churn. 'They said I was there because of you,' she said quietly, her eyes glued to the top of the table.

'Me?' Harry blurted. Ginny nodded. 'I hope you disabused them of that barmy notion with your playing.'

'It was after we played the first day of the trial,' Ginny told him. 'We played against the practice squad and this one absolute _cow_ told the others I wasn't that good. That the practice players were holding back, the Snitch was slow…' She leaned back in the chair. 'Of course, it might have been sour grapes. She was cut the first day.'

'I hope you hexed her,' Harry muttered. 'Giant, flapping, bogies…'

'I handled myself with the utmost grace and dignity,' Ginny said loftily. She pointed her wand at her hair, coiling it on the back of her head. It was still warm in the flat and sweat beaded along the nape of her neck. Harry reached across the table and fingered the sleeve of her shirt. Her long-sleeved shirt. The flat was stifling in the late June heat – the Cooling charms hadn't done more than take the edge off the heavy warmth in the flat – and Ginny wore long sleeves. He leaned across the table. A purple shadow smudged her eye. It had been shadowed by her hair.

'Where'd you get that black eye?' he asked with studied casualness.

'Bludger,' Ginny said with an equally casual shrug. She lifted her hand to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. The edge of the sleeve fell away from her wrist. Harry's hand shot across the table, grasping for her arm. He shoved the sleeve up. Bruises spread in ugly blotches over her freckled, ivory skin. They had obviously been tended to, but they were still the shades of dusky blues and purples of recent injury. Harry was far too familiar with it. He got up and rounded the table, reaching for Ginny's other arm, shoving that sleeve up, too. It was every bit as mottled as the other.

'What happened?' Ginny started at the tone of his voice. It was taut with burgeoning anger. 'Who did this to you?' he demanded.

Ginny drew the sleeve down. 'It's nothing,' she murmured.

'Those bruises aren't nothing!' Harry hissed. He remembered all too well telling his teachers in primary school the fresh bruises on his arms or face were the result of falling on the stairs, or walking into a doorway. Nobody would have believed him if he'd told them the truth, anyway.

Ginny's hand closed around Harry's wrist. His pulse fluttered under her fingertips. She stared at him, mouth slightly open. Harry's lips were white and pressed together. His hair stood on end. 'Gwenog wanted to see if we can handle the level of play,' she said evenly. 'She was the referee yesterday and didn't call fouls.'

'That's barbaric,' Harry informed her, still shaking inwardly with rage.

'Wouldn't you want to know if a potential Auror could handle what you throw at them?'

'Well, yes,' Harry began. 'But this is a bit much.' He lurched to his feet. 'Don't go anywhere.' He Summoned his bag and caught the strap in one hand, rummaging through it with the other. 'I've got something in here that'll heal those bruises faster…' He unearthed a small holdall and tossed it to the table. 'What did you use for those?' he asked

'Healer at the dragon reserve looked after them,' Ginny said. 'I don't really know what she put on. I just remember it was light blue.' She ruefully watched Harry upend the holdall on the table, and select a small tin. 'What is all that?'

'Aurors can't always get to the hospital, so if it's not life-threatening, we've all got this kit to patch things up until we can get to a Healer,' he told her, lifting the lid off a tin of silvery salve. 'Trainees learn how to make the potions themselves.' He scooped out a finger of it and motioned for Ginny to push her sleeves back. 'This is going to be a little cold,' he cautioned, smoothing the salve over her skin. Ginny hissed as she registered the chill. It raised gooseflesh over her arms that wasn't merely the byproduct of the salve. Harry's touch was as intimate as Bronwyn's had been impersonal. 'How was the rest of the trial?' he asked, head bent over her arms.

'Sprained my left ankle, earned a bloody nose, scraped my knuckles raw…'

Harry peeled away the plaster from the back of Ginny's left hand. The gouge of yesterday was now a pink line. Harry replaced the lid of the tin he held and opened another, raising Ginny's hand to his mouth. He brushed his lips over the healing cut before he dabbed the ointment over it that reminded him of green forests with its scent. Sparing a glance for Ginny, he winced in sympathy at the sweat-dampened hair around her face. 'You want to change out of that shirt?'

Ginny's nose wrinkled. 'Everything in my bag's rather disgusting. Sweaty, dirty…'

Harry's wand flicked slightly, and a t-shirt landed on the table. 'You can wear that.'

Ginny slid her hand under the soft fabric of the shirt, feeling a painful flush spread over her cheeks. It was one of Harry's older shirts that had survived Molly's purge of his wardrobe. He mostly slept in it now. 'I'll just go into the bath and change, then, shall I?' Ginny muttered. She stripped off her shirt once she was safely inside the bathroom. Like her injuries, things between them were mending, but utterances of forgiveness were not going to come easily. There was still a level of awkwardness from their fight. Ginny sighed and unfolded Harry's shirt, lifting it to her nose. The scent of Harry was embedded in the weave – the woodsy, musky fragrance she associated with him underneath the laundry soap.

She emerged from the bathroom, swathed in the folds of the oversized shirt. Harry stood next to the table, repacking his first-aid kit, more for something to do than in a fit of neatness. 'Are you hungry?' he asked, feeling an odd flutter in his stomach, reminiscent of when he'd tried to talk to Cho all those years ago. He wasn't entirely sure what to say to Ginny, and blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

Ginny shook her head. 'Not especially.' She suddenly felt unspeakably weary and drooped visibly.

Tongue-tied, Harry gestured to the sitting room and sank to the sofa. 'You didn't tell me how the trials ended,' he said, patting the cushion of the sofa next to him.

'Reserves,' Ginny yawned, curling into the sofa.

'Brilliant,' Harry said softly, stroking her hair.

Ginny felt boneless and heavy, eyelids falling closed. She could sleep here. She could sleep and not worry about anything, understanding in the last few minutes of consciousness there was a vast difference between feeling protected and safe and feeling as if it was all going to smother her. The last remembered thought she had was the realization Harry would never let anything happen to her while she was in an unguarded position. Not if he could help it. He would have hexed the Harpies entire starting side had she made any sort of overture in that direction. She fell asleep, head pillowed on his shoulder, feeling his heart beat steadily under her cheek, while his fingers gently caressed the back of her neck.

Harry felt Ginny's body go lax as she tumbled over the edge of slumber. He Summoned the remote control for the television and switched on the telly. There was a football game on and he lowered the volume to a bare murmur. He hated the announcers anyway. Too much talking while blokes would prefer to watch the match. Feeling a trickle of sweat snake its way down his chest, he set a stronger Cooling charm over the sitting room and tipped his head back against the back of the sofa, watching the game through half-opened eyes.

Wailing sirens startled him awake. He snorted and jabbed his wand in the general direction of the windows and the flat descended into silence once more. Blue light from the television screen flickered in the dark room, and Harry threaded his fingers through Ginny's hair. Her head had slipped from his shoulder and now her cheek rested on his stomach, nose nearly buried in his navel. Her warm breath ghosted over his exposed skin and Harry instinctively pressed her head in while his hips surged upward. He arrested the motion with a strangled gasp and pulled the throw pillow from behind his back and eased out from under Ginny, carefully placing the pillow under her head. He turned his back to the sofa and adjusted his jeans, breath hissing between his clenched teeth. Frantically searching the flat for something to do that wouldn't wake Ginny, his eyes lit on her bag. He reached for it, and carried it into the kitchen and threw her soiled clothing into the washing machine, feeling a flush overheat his body as he flung her knickers in. It wasn't the first time he'd seen Ginny's knickers. Molly often left everything folded in stacks on the table in the scullery at the Burrow, then had them fetch their clothes when they were done. But considering what he had just imagined happening with her, handling Ginny's knickers made him painfully self-conscious.

While the washing machine hummed, Harry rubbed a hand over his face, wondering if it would be bad form to nip into the bedroom and do something about the ache in his groin. Deciding if Ginny woke and inadvertently walked in on him in the midst of a good wank, it would be mortification almost too much to bear. _Think of something_, he ordered himself. _McGonagall in a bikini! Hmmm. I wonder if Gin still has that black one she wore last summer … Stop that! Molly and Arthur… Molly and Arthur… Okay, yeah… That's it…_ Harry pulse pounded in his temples. He stumbled into the bathroom, and twisted the cold water tap full blast. He swiftly stripped off his clothes and locked the door, before stepping into the hard, frigid spray. He stood, hands braced on the wall, feeling more than a little sheepish at his behavior.

After several minutes, his body finally under control once more, Harry shut off the water and reached for a towel, shivering, skin rippled with gooseflesh from the chill of the water. He opened the door and peered into the corridor, holding his breath. He'd forgotten to bring a change of clothes with him. _You're an eejit, Potter_, he told himself. _Defeat Voldemort and you don't blink an eyelash, but the idea that Ginny'll see you starkers terrifies you…_ His shoulders shook with silent laughter, and he ran lightly into the bedroom, dropping the towel as he rummaged for clean boxers. As his head popped through the top of the t-shirt, he heard a soft shuffling sound behind him.

Ginny stood framed in the doorway, groggily rubbing her eyes. 'How long have I been asleep?'

Harry glanced at the alarm clock ticking softly next to the bed. 'Couple of hours.'

'Sorry…'

'If it makes you feel better, I went to sleep, too.' Harry grabbed an old pair of khaki trousers and hoisted them up. 'Hungry?' he asked, buttoning them.

'Yeah.'

Harry gently pushed her toward the bathroom. 'Go have a wash,' he suggested. 'I'll go find some takeaway.'

Ginny blinked blearily at her watch. 'At this hour?'

'It's only eight,' Harry told her. 'Besides. This is Soho. There's _always_ something open.'

'But my clothes…' Ginny protested.

'They're in the washing machine,' Harry said, finding his old trainers. 'Your dad helped me modify it and the dryer, so they ought to be done by the time you're done with your bath.' Harry reached for his seldom-used dressing gown and handed it to her. 'You can wear this in the meantime.' Harry nudged her a little harder. 'Go on, then. Have a nice soak… I'll take care of your clothes.'

Ginny took a few steps in the direction of the bathroom, then stopped. 'Thank you.'

Harry ran a hand through his damp hair and ducked his head bashfully, before he swiftly kissed Ginny's cheek, then moved to brush an equally fleeting kiss over her mouth. 'Take your time.' He walked out of the flat, whistling softly under his breath.

xxxxxx

Harry scraped the remains of Ginny's dinner into the bin and handed her the plate. She slid it into the hot, soapy water, and began to run a dishcloth over it. It was a chore they'd shared from time to time at the Burrow. The thought made him stop in mid-step. 'Does Molly know you're here?' he asked.

Ginny's plait swayed against her back. 'No.'

'Does she think you're still in Wales?'

'Probably.'

'And Charlie?'

Ginny rinsed the plate and placed it in a dishrack to dry. 'I imagine Bronwyn's told him I went home by now.'

'Who's Bronwyn?'

'Friend.' Ginny plunged the glasses under the water. 'Well. More than a friend, but he won't say.'

Harry's brow swept upward. 'Can you blame him? You were there when Percy brought Penelope Clearwater home for Sunday lunch. The glances around the table, the whispers behind requests to pass the bloody potatoes. Charlie's so reticent, it would make him break out in spots.'

'I liked her,' Ginny said. 'She gets it. The desire to prove yourself.' She set the glasses in the dishrack and turned to face Harry, wiping her hands on a tea towel. 'She helped me find a flat.' Ginny folded the towel and draped it over the towel rail. 'Tomorrow's Saturday,' she remarked.

'And?'

'We can go up to Holyhead. I'll show you the flat. Show you around Holyhead. Well, the bit I was able to explore.'

'Brilliant. What time do you want me to come by the Burrow?'

'Why would you do that?'

'Aren't you staying there tonight?' Harry asked hesitantly.

Ginny leaned against the counter. 'I thought I'd stay here tonight.' She looked at him steadily, eyes warm, dark pools in the muted light of the kitchen. Harry's face reddened and his eyes darkened. It was an expression Ginny was beginning to learn. 'To sleep,' she clarified.

Harry hoped he didn't look as crestfallen as he felt. 'I'll doss down on the sofa, then,' he choked, striding toward the airing cupboard.

'Harry…' Ginny's soft voice stopped him. 'I don't want you to sleep on the sofa.'

'Wh-what are you saying?'

'I'm saying I trust you.' Ginny held out a hand.

Harry gulped and took it, enfolding her small, broom-callused hand in his larger one. 'Are you sure?'

'I'm sure I want to sleep here tonight,' Ginny said firmly. 'Anything other than that…' She shrugged. 'We'll find out as we go along.'

Harry drew in a deep, shuddering breath. 'Okay.' He started to lead Ginny to the bedroom, but stopped, wound his arm around her shoulders and walked into it, together.


	7. Running Into Dawn

Bronwyn let herself into Charlie's cabin and hefted the canvas carrier bag of groceries to her shoulder. He often fell into bed the morning after a week of overnight shifts and went to sleep without eating breakfast. As for Bronwyn, she was bored. Ginny had gone home that afternoon. Her father was away at some conference, and she didn't care to cook solely for herself, and Charlie was certain to be quite hungry when he woke up. She set the carrier bag on the counter jabbed her wand at it. Potatoes and carrots floated to the sink. She scrubbed them, then set a small knife to peeling and cutting the potatoes into small cubes. While they boiled on the stove, she peeled the carrots and chopped them into pieces. She then peeled and cut up an onion, grateful she could use magic. Onions not only made her want to screw up her eyes until she couldn't see, and tears streamed down her face, she didn't like how they made her hands smell. When she could poke a fork through a potato cube with no resistance, she mashed the potatoes, while the chunks of lamb sizzled in a pan. She spooned some of the drippings into another pan with a little flour to make gravy, again, grateful she could use magic to keep whisking the roux so it didn't get lumpy, while she put the vegetables in with the meat. Peas completed the filling, making dots of bright green with the earthy colors of meat, onion, and carrot. Mashed potatoes lined a casserole, and she mixed the gravy with the meat concoction, spreading it over the mashed potatoes. Bronwyn topped the entire thing with more mashed potatoes, and slid the heavy casserole into the oven. Shepherds' pie. Just the way Charlie liked it.

A casual wave of her wand cleaned the kitchen, scouring it with the same meticulousness she employed in the infirmary. Faced with nothing to do until the pie was done, and she could wake Charlie, Bronwyn ran a finger over the line of black, cloth-bound sketchbooks on the top shelf of his bookcase. She'd seen some of his sketches before. Mostly the ones of his family and a few dragons he worked with in Romania, and even an occasional landscape of the reservation, but he preferred to draw people. She tugged a book from the shelf and folded herself gracefully to the braided rag rug on the floor. The first one was Ginny. It was dated just over a year ago. She was huddled on a patch of grass, arms wrapped around her shins, cheek resting against her drawn-up knees, strands of hair blowing unheeded across her face. She looked directly out of the sketch. His parents at his older brother's wedding two years ago, dancing as if they didn't have a care in the world. His younger twin brothers as small boys. Charlie might have presented himself as quite the loner, but the love he felt for his family was evident in the details of the sketches. In Ginny's small hands that managed to look strong in spite of their size. The way his father held his mother close, even after nearly thirty years of marriage. The mischievous sparkle in his brothers' eyes. They were intimate glimpses spoke of a longing to belong.

Bronwyn set the book back in its place, and picked up the next one. This one was filled with images from his last year or so in Romania. Several pages held images of one woman. She wasn't what Bronwyn would call pretty. Interesting, to be sure, but not ugly. Just sort of plain. She seemed to be a series of squares, angles, and straight lines. Her hair was straight, cut just below her strong jawline. Her eyebrows were straight and thick, bracketing oblong eyes. The irises must have been dark brown or black, judging by the amount of shading he'd used. They too, stared straight out of the sketch, in faint challenge. Calm. Like limpid pools of water that reflected the sky above until something broke the stillness. Bronwyn turned a page and the woman posed with her back to Charlie. Her shoulders were broad, as was her torso. She wasn't fat by any means, but she was the farthest thing from a waif as possible. She was nude and unashamedly so. Fascinated, Bronwyn turned a few more pages until she came to another nude drawing of the mystery woman. In this one, she lay on her side and Charlie had drawn her from head to toe. Charlie hadn't pulled any punches, or tried to make her more attractive than she was, but Bronwyn couldn't take her eyes of the woman. Again, it was intimate, and despite the woman's nudity, it wasn't remotely pornographic.

The bedroom door opened, and Charlie materialized in the darkened doorway, seemingly unconcerned about Bronwyn's presence in his cabin. He yawned, and ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up over his ears. The hand dropped to the front of his boxers and he scratched himself thoroughly, yawning widely. 'What's cooking?' he grunted, crossing the room to join Bronwyn on the rug.

'Shepherds' pie.'

'Brilliant.' Charlie looked around the sitting room. 'Where's Ginny?'

'Presumably at home. Or Harry's flat if he accepted her apology.'

'When did she leave?"

'Around three or so. I took her to King's Cross.'

Charlie looked relieved. 'Oh. Good. I could have sworn she came in and said something about it. Thought I was dreaming. Nearly panicked when she wasn't in here.'

Bronwyn looked down at the book once more. 'Who's this?' she asked.

Charlie rubbed a hand over his face, squinting at the picture. 'Masha.'

'Masha?'

'Marya Nikolayneva Tvardovskya. Masha. She was from some village in Siberia.'

'Was she… your… girlfriend?'

'No.' Charlie took the book from Bronwyn and leafed through it. 'What did Bill call it…? Friend with benefits? Yeah.'

'So you slept with her?'

'Sometimes,' Charlie admitted guilelessly. 'We were comfortable with each other, and she knew I didn't love her, and she didn't love me.'

'How do you know?' Bronwyn challenged. 'She could have been pining for you.'

Charlie laughed. 'Not Masha. She wasn't sentimental about anything. Or anybody. She'd been kicked around as a kid, so she didn't form strong attachments to people. She said she was found in a train station by a soldier when she was just a baby. He took her to an orphanage. She stayed there until she went to Durmstrang. She always held people at arm's length. And I had spent my entire life surrounded by either my rather large family, or other Hogwarts students. I liked that she didn't demand anything of me. And it was fine. Until I saw what Bill had with Fleur.' Charlie closed the book and replaced it on the shelf. 'Let's go eat, yeah? I'm starving.' He got to his feet and ambled toward his bedroom. 'Just let me put on some jeans or something.'

Driven by an impulse she didn't want to question, Bronwyn stood up and fingered the topmost button of the gauzy cotton blouse she wore. Charlie walked back into the sitting room, zipping his old jeans, and Bronwyn deliberately slipped the first button through the buttonhole. 'Draw me,' she implored softly. The next two buttons followed the first, and Bronwyn was able to pull the loose garment over her head. Charlie's hands slid into his pockets, and he stood in the middle of the rug, looking at his bare feet. Bronwyn dropped her blouse and reached behind her back with one hand, unhooking her bra with a deft, practiced flick of her fingers. She shrugged her shoulders and it fell off her arms, landing on top of her discarded shirt. 'Draw me.' Charlie swallowed hard and glanced up, dark blue eyes hooded with indecision. Bronwyn unfastened her own jeans and pushed them and her knickers down her full hips with one fluid motion. 'Charlie… I want you to draw me…'

Charlie exhaled with a shudder and yanked his wand from his back pocket. It shot red sparks from the tip and he swore softly before jabbing in the direction of the kitchen. 'Don't want dinner to burn.' Another flick of his wand brought the pouch with his charcoal to his hand, along with his current sketchbook. 'Erm. Just…' Charlie looked wildly around the Spartan surroundings. He grabbed her hand. 'Come on…' He led her into his bedroom, and gestured to the messy bed. 'Lie down…' He crossed Bronwyn's ankles, then uncrossed them, his touch suddenly impersonal. 'No… That won't work.' Charlie bent one knee a little to the side so the sole of her foot rested against the opposite ankle, then raised her left arm to curl around her head, and draped her right one over her stomach. 'Spread your fingers a little,' he muttered, nudging her right hand. He dragged the chair in the corner of the bedroom around to the side of the bed and sat down. 'Turn your head this way,' he commanded. 'More. Your cheek ought to rest on your arm… Yeah, that's it. Close your eyes.' Charlie sat back and let his eyes travel over Bronwyn one last time. 'And relax… Just… go limp… like you're sleeping…'

'I'll try…' Bronwyn blew out a breath and settled into Charlie's bed, inhaling the mingled odors of Charlie, his laundry soap, and the faint, yet unmistakable whiff of the bitter aroma of the fireproofing charms he put on every last article of clothing he wore. Her eyes drifted shut and she felt the rough skin of his fingertips arrange a few locks of hair into place and feather gently over her cheek before it was gone, replaced by the scratchy sounds of his stick of charcoal moving over the thick, textured paper. She shifted a little after several minutes.

'Don't move,' Charlie said sharply.

'My arse is getting numb,' Bronwyn murmured.

'Too bad.' Charlie reached over and replaced a lock of hair over her cheek. 'Just a little longer,' he promised, sounding vague. He was lost in shaping lines and shadows into a form that resembled Bronwyn, half-aroused already. He'd never drawn anyone that he might love in the way his parents loved each other. Every motion of his charcoal aroused him even more. The way her hair spiraled into curls that were just this side of wild. Slim shoulders and a narrow torso that tapered to her waist, then flared abruptly into wide hips, her thighs, calves, and finally her long feet with long toes and high arches. Breasts that just barely filled his palm. Eyebrows that slanted slightly over wide eyes, prominent cheekbones, a scant curve to her chin that saved it from being pointed. Thin upper lip, full lower one. He used the edge of his thumb to soften the shadows between her breasts and thighs, then his smallest finger to smudge the line of her jaw. He signed and dated it in the lower right corner, then waved his wand over the paper, murmuring a spell that would keep the charcoal from smudging. 'It's done.'

'Can I see it?'

Charlie hesitated, then handed the book to Bronwyn. She studied it with a frown. 'I don't look like this,' she said flatly. Charlie had drawn her the way he had Masha, without alteration. But there was something about it that didn't let her tear her gaze away.

'It looks just like you,' Charlie offered. 'The way I see you, at least.'

Bronwyn sighed and closed the book. 'At least you didn't want to draw me from the back,' she huffed. 'You'd need more paper to accommodate my bum.' She glanced over her shoulder scornfully. 'More like a bum and a half.'

'I like your bum.' Charlie lunged forward, joining Bronwyn on the bed, pulling his t-shirt over his head as he did so.

'Aren't you hungry? I'm sure the dinner will spoil if we don't…'

'To hell with dinner.' Charlie's head lowered and he nuzzled the slope of her breast. 'It'll keep…'

xxxxxx

Hermione cradled Ron's hand in hers as they walked the quiet streets of Oxford. The broom calluses on his hands were fading a little, but new ones were forming on his right middle finger and thumb from using a quill so much. She had a similar one on hers. The cuticles of his nails were stained bright orange, and no amount of scrubbing or Scouring charms could help. It would just have to wear off, he had told her with a resigned shrug. 'You look tired,' she commented.

'Summer holidays,' he replied, stifling a yawn. 'Always busier than when the school term starts. At least that's what George tells me.'

Hermione started guiltily. She had taken the last week to do absolutely nothing. She slept late, read Muggle books by the score, even watched a few football matches while her father attempted once more to explain the rules to her. 'Do you need some help? I don't start with the Ministry until the beginning of August.'

'Nah. We've got David and Sasha. They're quite good at keeping the front in some semblance of order.'

'I could help in the back.'

'We've got it, Hermione,' Ron said sharply. 'Sorry,' he added, seeing her head duck slightly. 'It's not you.' He drew in a deep breath and stopped walking. 'How much did you want to live in the flat over the shop?' he asked anxiously. 'I know we talked about it last Christmas.'

'How much do you want to live there?' she countered.

Ron dragged her over to an empty bus shelter and dropped to the bench inside. It was starting to rain. He sat quietly for a moment, watching the steady drizzle grow heavier until he could hear it pattering on the pavement. 'I really want to get out on my own,' he admitted. 'And I don't fancy having to Floo or Apparate on a regular basis. I'm afraid I'll Splinch myself or end up in, oh, I dunno… Yorkshire. George pays me well. More than what we agreed on in February. It's very generous. And I looked at flats in London, even the dodgy parts, and I'd spend all my gold on the flat. And Diagon Alley is… Well, someone has to die to get a flat there.' He leaned back, resting his head against the back of the shelter. 'Harry really does have it so easy sometimes,' he muttered.

'Ron, you don't mean that!' Hermione gasped softly.

'I know,' Ron said shamefacedly. 'Look at what he had to lose, but blimey, Hermione, he doesn't have to worry about paying his landlord. He told me when he was packing up his things he could buy brooms for all the House Quidditch teams, and it wouldn't make a dent in his Gringott's account.' He sheepishly looked at Hermione. 'Bit silly to be jealous over it, innit?' Hermione shook her head. Money was a touchy subject for Ron, given how little of it his family had when he was younger. 'I never want to inherit that kind of money the way Harry did,' Ron added, a little defensively. 'George won't let me have the flat over the shop,' he blurted. 'Katie said she'd help me persuade him, but he's not going to budge any time soon.'

'Oh. I see.' Hermione traced the freckles on the back of Ron's stiff hand. Indignation radiated from him, almost in a visible aura – if one believed in such rubbish, that is. 'I thought I'd stay with my parents for a while,' she confessed.

'Still feeling guilty for sending them to Australia?' Ron inquired.

'A little.' Hermione leaned into Ron and he wound an arm around her shoulders. 'What Harry's doing,' she began, 'being on his own…?' She felt rather than saw Ron's nod. 'I don't want to do that yet,' she admitted. 'I'm sorry…' she whispered.

Ron heaved a sigh. 'No use worrying about it now,' he said finally. 'I'll just keep looking for something…' He rose to his feet, pulling Hermione with him. 'Let's get you home, eh?'

Hermione dug her heels in. 'Ron?' she asked, pulling on his hand.

He glanced over his shoulder. 'Yeah?'

'It doesn't have anything to do with you,' she explained. 'We grew up so fast. Too fast. And I missed having my mum fuss over me.' Hermione took a step toward him. 'It sounds completely ridiculous out loud.'

Ron shook his head. 'I get it, hen,' he said gently. 'If I can't find something before George relents, then we'll come back and see where we stand, all right?'

'What if I still don't want to live with you?'

'Then I'll live there by myself,' Ron snorted. 'I can look after myself, you know. I can even wash my own pants,' he grumbled.

'You can do laundry?'

'Always the tone of surprise with you,' Ron grumbled. 'Yes. Ickle Ronnikins can wash his own pants and socks. And most of the time, they don't come out in spots or different colors.'

'Most of the time?'

'Remember my Chudley Cannons boxers?'

'Yes…'

'They're not so orange anymore. Kind of a muddy sort of color, actually. And my white socks turned pink.'

'Did you throw them out?'

'Of course not!' he said aghast. 'They're still good socks. And Mum showed me how to fix it. They're still a bit on the pinkish side, but it's not too bad.' He dug the small umbrella from his jacket pocket. It fit in the palm of his hand, but when he pressed a sparkling purple button, it expanded to a diameter of nearly four feet. 'Prototype for the shop,' he said proudly when he saw Hermione astonished expression. 'Worked on it with George. Got an Impervious charm, too. Keeps your feet from getting wet.'

'It's brilliant.'

Ron didn't blush, but the tips of his ears turned pink. 'Thanks.' He stepped out of the shelter into the steady rainfall. 'I wonder how Ginny did with her trial,' he mused, as he held the umbrella over the two of them.

'She ought to be back by now. Unless…'

'Unless what?'

'Unless she's decided to just stay with Charlie until training starts.'

'Hmmm,' Ron grunted. 'We'll find out Sunday, then.'

xxxxxx

Ginny rolled over and encountered something strange in her bed. Only it wasn't her narrow bed at the Burrow, and the something was Harry, sprawled over the top of the quilt, bundled into an afghan. Ginny didn't recognize it from the things he'd brought into the flat when he moved in, but it bore the unmistakable stamp of having been knitted by Molly. It had been knit in shades of green – from the palest celadon to the deep green of towering trees in the Forbidden Forest. Molly always liked Harry in red or green. She blew her hair from her face and frowned. That was odd. When she'd gotten into bed the night before, her hair had been neatly plaited. She turned her head on the pillow, and spied the elastic, peeping from between Harry's fingers. _When did he do that?_, Ginny wondered, easing a lock of her hair from under his loosely curled hand. She stealthily turned back the edge of the afghan. The last year had wrought several changes on him. The shadows that ringed his eyes were slowly disappearing. His face was fuller, and no longer so pinched. Even the scar that blazed so prominently on his forehead was lighter and smaller. And he _slept_. The faint movements of his eyes beneath his eyelids told her he dreamed about something, but he continued to sleep peacefully, with no visible signs of a nightmare.

The alarm clock began to buzz softly, then grew louder. Ginny tried to reach over Harry to shut it off, but he grimaced, and blindly reached for it, slamming his hand on top of it, silencing the annoying sound. He slowly opened his eyes and smiled, quite like the Kneazle with the canary. 'Morning,' he muttered rustily.

'Good morning.'

Harry kissed the tip of her nose, then thrashed for a moment, freeing himself from the afghan. To Ginny's surprise, he grabbed a pair of football shorts and a t-shirt from his bureau. 'Some of the blokes in the Aurors like to run a bit in the morning,' he told her muzzily. 'Helps keep 'em fit.' It was only after he had hauled the shirt he'd slept in over his head, and was on the verge of pushing his pajama bottoms to the floor did he realize he would have to change in the bathroom. He didn't think Ginny would appreciate being faced with his nudity first thing in the morning. Plus, the white briefs he clutched in one hand weren't his favorite choice of undergarment, but they kept everything where they were supposed to be. The first time he'd gone on a run with the other Aurors, he'd worn his customary boxers, and his bits had jounced around in a most painful manner. After that, he wore pants that kept everything snugly in place.

Ginny sat up, pushing her hair from her face. 'Can I come?'

'Why?'

'Quidditch players need to keep fit, as well, gumby,' she said, tossing her hair. She vaulted from the bed, reaching into the wicker laundry basket sitting at the foot of the bed, and grabbed the clothes Charlie had given her a few days before and darted into the bathroom. 'Give me five minutes!' she called.

'Okay…' Harry replied in bemusement. _What just happened?_ Shrugging, he doffed the pajama bottoms, and shimmied into the pants, carefully arranging them – and himself – into place. He pulled on a pair of baggy football shorts and pulled on socks and his trainers before yanking a clean shirt over his head. Ginny emerged from the bathroom, dressed in her jog pants and race top. She retrieved the elastic from her pillow and bound her hair into a high ponytail.

'Let's go,' Ginny said, hopping on one foot, as she drew a sock over one foot, then the other.

'You're not very cute this early in the morning,' Harry observed.

Ginny froze with a trainer dangling from one hand. 'I beg your pardon?'

'Too bloody perky,' Harry grumbled, as he headed for the bathroom to brush his teeth.

'So what made you take up running in the morning?' Ginny called after him as she tugged on her trainers.

Harry stood in the doorway of the bathroom, handle of his toothbrush poking from his mouth. 'They invited me at that do at Peter's house last month,' he mumbled through a mouthful of foam. He spat noisily into the sink. 'Figured it couldn't hurt to be social,' he added, before cupping his hand under the tap and rinsing his mouth. 'And it helps take the edge off.'

'The edge?'

Harry slid his wand into the pocket he'd sewn into his shorts and gestured for Ginny to precede him out of the flat. 'Work stress… And other stress… You know.'

'You have no idea,' Ginny retorted.

xxxxxx

They approached the group of Aurors, chatting softly in the early-morning mist. 'Is this a cocks only party or can a hen join?' Ginny asked, propping one foot on a bench to stretch.

'Are ye sure ye can keep up wi' us, lass?' asked a man roughly Arthur's age.

'I just signed officially with the Harpies,' Ginny offered.

'Och, aye?' he retorted skeptically. 'What position?'

'You'll have to read the paper today and find out,' she said cagily.

Peter Wilson, Harry's supervisor, chuckled. 'Arthur Weasley's youngest, aren't you?'

'Yes.'

'Well, you can't do any worse than Harry the first time he joined us,' Peter said.

'Oh no…' Harry whispered in horror, covering his face with his hands.

Peter smirked. 'Poor lad kept up for a mile. Never seen him so red in the year I've known him. Thought he was going to collapse after the second mile. Tottering so badly after the third, we took pity on him and Side-Alonged him back home.' Peter slapped Harry genially on the back. 'Of course it didn't help nobody ever told the lad he had to wear something a little binding or Willy and his two compadres would be displeased.'

Ginny smothered a smile with her hand. Harry was the nearly the shade of a tomato. He looked as if he hoped the earth would open beneath his trainers and swallow him whole. 'Been running five or six days a week since the end of March,' she said. 'I ought to be all right.'

'Let's get going,' one of the Aurors called. 'Sooner we get this done, the sooner I can get home to the missus.'

'Didja let her have a lie-in this mornin', Garry?'

Garry gave the laces of his trainers a final tug and straightened. 'Erm. Yeah. Sure.'

'She probably told him to get his lazy arse out of bed and leave her alone,' another Auror teased.

'Get on with you,' Garry huffed, striking off down the path.

The others followed him. Ginny stayed to the rear of the group, just behind Harry. Subtlety, four of the Aurors formed a perimeter around Harry. Ginny's brow rose slightly and she inclined her head toward him, while glancing at Peter, jogging steadily next to her. 'Old habits die hard, lass,' he murmured. 'There's still a few that would give their eyeteeth to have a go with the lad.'

'You think he doesn't realize you're doing it?' Ginny scoffed.

'He does. Watch.'

Harry scowled and deliberately slowed until he was lagging a little behind Ginny. Peter continued to jog next to her for several paces, or so it seemed. He moved over an inch at a time until he was alongside Harry. A few others dropped back to surround him once more.

'Voldemort's been dead for a year, you know,' Harry groused. 'And the rest of his lot's been captured. And the Malfoys haven't left their house in weeks.'

'Can't be too careful,' Peter reminded him.

'I've been running with you lot for almost two months,' Harry stated. 'Don't you think if someone wanted to hex me, they'd have done it by now?'

Peter snorted. 'Don't forget Mad-Eye was _my_ teacher.'

'Constant vigilance!' Ginny piped up.

'Exactly,' Peter agreed. He grinned at Harry. 'I like her.'

'Can we stop talking and run?' Harry panted. Ginny thought she saw a hint of a smile play on his mouth. She only hoped she could find that level of camaraderie with the Harpies.

xxxxxx

Percy carried a laden tray into the bedroom of his flat. He set it on the bureau and surveyed the figure currently sprawled across his bed in disheveled repose. Penny's long hair spilled over her pillow and draped across her shoulders. He picked up one of the cups of tea on the tray and carefully waved it under her nose. 'Penny…'

'It had better be past eight in the morning,' she rasped, peering between her curls.

'Erm…' Percy glanced guiltily at the clock. It was just eight. 'It's not before eight,' he temporized.

Penny sat up and piled the pillows against the headboard, examining Percy. Every hair was in place, his pajamas were as crisp as the moment he'd put them on. His collar wasn't even the tiniest bit askew. Even his slippers looked as if they were brand-new. 'Saturday's for having a lie-in, you know,' she said grumpily, accepting the tea.

Percy slipped his hands into his neatly tied dressing gown. 'I slept until seven-thirty,' he told her. 'That's rather late for me.' He turned to the bureau and picked up the tray, holding it carefully as he slid onto the bed next to her.

Penny ruefully surveyed the breakfast tray. 'You make me feel like a lazy git,' she remarked.

'You ought to try living with my mum,' Percy said slathering a slice of toast with strawberry preserves. 'She makes a dead body feel lazy.' He chewed his toast for a moment, feeling for the slight lump in the dressing gown pocket. 'What are you doing a week from Tuesday?'

'Working, as far as I know.'

'Can you take a few days off?'

'Why would I need to take a few days off?'

Percy pulled a small box from his pocket. 'Unless you don't care for a honeymoon…' he said, holding it out to her.

Penny took the box and set her cup on the tray and carefully opened the black velvet box. A ring nestled in a slot. A larger round diamond was set between two smaller ones, on a white gold band, blazing in the light from the lamp next to the bed. 'Oh. I…'

'Penny, you wouldn't abandon me, even when everyone else did. I didn't like who I was without you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you.' When Penny didn't reply, her eyes fixed unblinkingly on the ring, Percy added. 'Most of your clothes are here as it is. Might as well move the rest of your things in here as well.'

'Oh, Percy…' Penny's fingertips covered her mouth. 'It's lovely.'

'Well?'

Penny took the ring from its slot and slid it on her finger. She cupped Percy's face in her hand, and gently kissed him in reply.

xxxxxx

Harry used the neck of his t-shirt to swab the sweat from his upper lip. 'You're pretty good,' he said to Ginny.

'Thanks,' she replied smugly. 'I thought Gwenog was mad when she told me I had to start doing that, but it did help during the trial,' Ginny said grudgingly. They walked past a bakery and she sniffed the air appreciatively. 'I'm starving.'

Harry eyed Ginny's clothing. 'I don't have any money with me,' he began, 'and I'm not sure where you could fit any in there… But I can come back and get a few of those rolls.'

Ginny gave the pastries a last, longing glance, and kept walking toward the deserted alcove where they could Apparate. 'I said I'm starving, not peckish. I want real food.'

'I can do that,' Harry said, winding his arms around her waist. 'Eggs, bacon, sausages, grilled tomatoes, mushrooms, and toast?'

'Read my mind.' Ginny rose on her toes. 'Thank Merlin I only eat like that on weekends. I'd have to wear a marquee if I did that every day.' She brushed her mouth over Harry's, hands resting on the angle of his hips. They slowly slid around, meeting at the small of his back, fingertips just barely brushing over the slope of his bottom.

Harry's breath caught and he pulled away slightly. 'Stop,' he ordered. 'I'll Splinch us if you keep on like that…'

'Wouldn't want that to happen,' Ginny murmured. She moved her hands, so they were laced together in the middle of his back. 'Let's go.'

Harry groaned softly, and pulled his wand from the pocket of his shorts. _Home…_ he thought to himself, picturing the landing at the top of the stairs just outside his flat. _Hmmm. Home… Ginny in my bed this morning… Stop thinking about Ginny in your bed! Merlin, how pervy can you be?_

'Erm, Harry?'

'Yeah?'

'Are you all right?'

'Yeah. Just… Give me a minute…' Harry drew a deep breath and forced himself to picture the landing, keeping his thoughts firmly away from the unmade bed that was sure to have the lingering scent of Ginny on the pillow. He squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated harder than he ever had to Apparate. When the suffocating sensation died away, he cautiously opened his eyes, and nearly sagged in relief that they had managed to appear on the landing. 'Are you all right?' he asked quietly.

'Never better,' Ginny said, bright brows drawing together briefly. 'You?'

'Just amazed I didn't Splinch one of us…'

'Maybe I ought to have done the Apparating,' Ginny teased.

'Can't,' Harry said off-handedly. 'Charmed so only I can Apparate to the landing.' He brushed loose hair from Ginny's face and bent to kiss her properly, groping blindly for the doorknob behind them. Ginny was driving him to distraction, having worked her hands beneath his shirt. Hands that slipped and slid over his sweat-slick skin. Frustrated at his inability to manually open the door, Harry jabbed his wand at the door, and it blasted open. He began to walk forward, still kissing Ginny, then kicked the door shut once they were inside. Ginny's mouth moved from his long enough to yank the shirt over his head. She delicately licked the hollow of his throat, tasting the salty tang of his sweat. She felt him gather her in his arms as he lifted her to the cool counter in the kitchen. The contrast of the chilled surface on her heated body made her gasp aloud. She deliberately wrapped her legs around Harry's hips, pulling him tightly against her, fingers digging into the rigid muscle of his bottom, grinding against him, his body's arousal making itself highly evident. The fullness of his boxers had never let her feel him quite like this and the thin fabric of his football shorts was a laughable barrier between them. Harry's hands slid from her waist to the underside of her breasts, the backs of his hands brushing over them. Her nipples hardened in response and Ginny moaned against his collarbone.

Quite without warning, Harry pulled away, spinning on his heel. He yanked open the refrigerator, chest heaving. 'Go get washed,' he told her raggedly, clenching the handle of the refrigerator so hard, his knuckles were white.

Ginny flinched slightly. She greedily gulped air into her lungs, on one hand grateful that Harry had the presence of mind to put a stop to things before they truly spiraled out of control and they both did something they would regret, but on the other hand, deeply disappointed they had stopped. She slid off the counter and went into the bathroom, peeling off her sodden clothes. She got into the bath, turning on the taps without waiting for the water to heat up. Ginny quickly washed her hair and her hand hovered over her soap, sitting in its case before it grabbed the cake of sandalwood-scented soap Harry used. She ignored the face cloth draped over the edge of the tub and worked up a lather between her hands and ran her hands over her body. Spending the better part of an hour running behind Harry, watching the flex of his bottom as he ran made her more than a little lightheaded. Removing his shirt made an ache pool between her thighs. It wasn't the first time she'd felt like this. She'd felt something like this hen she'd kissed Michael or Dean, but that was like comparing a trickle of water to a roaring river.

She finished her ablutions and shut the water off, bundling her dripping hair into one towel, while winding another around her body. Ginny gathered her clothes in one hand and forced herself to walk slowly into Harry's bedroom, where her clothes were. She dressed quickly, and left her hair loose to dry. She padded from the bedroom, and stopped in mid-stride. Harry had ducked into the bathroom to wash. The door was ajar and he had his back to the mirror. He slid the football shorts and pants down his legs and let them fall to the floor. Ginny felt her cheeks burn and she turned away quickly from the sight of Harry's bum.

Staring at his naked body wasn't going to get breakfast cooked any faster. And she was hungry. She would take the food for now.


	8. Put Away Childish Things

Harry opened the back door of the Burrow. 'I'll see you at lunch tomorrow,' he said softly. He tucked a lock of Ginny's hair behind her ear, fingers brushing over her cheek.

Ginny let one hand rest against his chest as she rose on her toes and pressed butterfly-soft kisses to the corners of his mouth, then settled her mouth over his. She pulled back with a regretful sigh and slipped into the house. 'G'night, Harry,' she whispered.

Harry jammed his hands into his pockets and watched Ginny disappear into the sitting room. He blew out a breath and spun on his heel, walking from the garden. He intended to Apparate home, but his steps took him to the river. By the time he'd reached the riverbank, he had already pulled his shirt over his head. He quickly toed off his trainers, kicked off his jeans, and dove into the cool embrace of the water. He surfaced with a splutter. 'Nice,' Ron's voice said from the grassy bank.

Harry treaded water for a moment. 'Been there long?'

'Mad-Eye would have a conniption fit,' Ron chuckled. 'You ran right past me.' He waved Harry's discarded shirt at him. 'This fairly landed on my head.'

'Sorry…'

'Something on your mind?' Ron leaned back on his elbows, contemplating his wet friend.

Harry ducked his head under the water and when he came up for air, he flung his head back, scattering water over his shoulders. 'You could say that.'

'Something you can tell me?'

Harry's eyes closed and memory of Ginny wrapped around him brought back the arrested arousal with a vengeance. 'Trust me. It's not something you want to hear.'

'Harry, come on. It's me. Ron. Your best mate.'

Harry stared up at the starry sky. _You asked for it, mate…_ 'It's about Ginny,' he began.

'Is she still in a strop with you?'

Harry hand brushed over the front of his boxers. 'No.' He grinned. 'No, she's not.'

Ron eyed Harry in the darkness, unable to see his face clearly. 'She still in Wales? Did she owl you?'

Harry shook his head. 'No. Just took her to the Burrow. She, ah, came by the flat. We talked. It's… okay…' He lazily paddled through the cold water. 'Well, we're working on it at any rate…'

'Better than fighting.'

Harry cut his hand through the water, sending a splash at Ron. 'Don't you have some sort of N.E.W.T. in bickering?'

'Hermione and I don't fight,' Ron corrected.

'Oh, no?' Harry sent another splash at Ron. 'Then what in the hell have the two of you been doing since we met on the train?'

'That's not fighting. That's… erm… ah…'

'Yeah?'

'A forceful exchange of opinions.' Ron nodded vigorously. 'Yeah. That's it.'

Harry snorted with laughter and cautiously checked the state of things underwater. Satisfied his boxers were no longer tented enough to house a troop of Scouts, he emerged from the river and dropped on the grass next to Ron. 'How are things with Hermione?'

'She put the brakes on,' Ron muttered. 'Not out of the ordinary with us, though, innit? Don't rush into things…'

Harry burst out laughing. 'That's total rubbish!' he choked. 'How long were the two of you actually dating before you slept with her? A couple of months?'

'It took three years for her to kiss me,' Ron retorted. 'And it's not like I'd only known her a few months.'

'Why didn't you kiss her first again?'

'Remember those bloody yellow birds?' Ron huffed.

'Yeah.'

'That's why. I was afraid she'd get offended and hex me… Especially after I ran off.'

'Understandable…'

Harry studied Ron, taking in his disheveled hair and shirt buttoned the wrong way. 'What exactly are you putting the brakes on, might one ask?' he ventured tentatively.

'She's put our plans to move in with each other on hold for a while,' Ron sighed. 'Says after everything we went through, we grew up too fast and she wants to well, not have all that responsibility for a while…'

'She's got a point,' Harry allowed. 'Look at us,' he added with a rueful smirk, realizing he was about to justify Ginny's arguments against the two of them cohabitating. 'We spent over three months isolated here after the war ended, and then we had benefit of living here and being able to ease into being adults.'

'But Hermione was in school last year,' Ron objected.

'Yeah, but that's… School… Sitting in a classroom isn't the same as sifting through someone's memories, or tracking down Death Eaters or running a successful shop. We were able to figure some of it out before they took their first N.E.W.T.'

'I suppose,' Ron mumbled.

Harry picked up his shirt and pulled it over his head. 'She needs you, you know. You keep her from being too serious.'

'You mean I keep her from turning into Percy.'

Harry pulled up his knees and wrapped his arms around them, looking incongruously like a small child. 'That, too.'

Ron gazed at Harry suspiciously. 'Are you really okay? You hardly ever not notice things unless something's bothering you…'

Harry opened his mouth to express his envy of Ron and his easily found intimacy with Hermione, but as always, the fact Ginny was Ron's sister stilled his tongue. 'I'm fine,' he said instead.

xxxxxx

Ginny woke up early, as had become her habit, and dressed quietly in the twilight of dawn. She pulled on her old sweats and laced her feet into her trainers, before heading downstairs for her morning run. She quickly stretched and set off toward the village, jogging a lap around the green before going back to the Burrow. While she ran, she let her thoughts drift to Harry. He aroused her to the point of distraction, to be sure, but she couldn't quite manage to figure out just what kept her from crossing that invisible line she'd drawn in the sand. She loved him far beyond her childhood fantasies, but sex was, in her mind, the point of no return – an irrevocable declaration of her sensibilities. She was going to have to trust Harry in a way she hadn't trusted anyone since her first year of school when she allowed the vestige of Tom Riddle into her heart and mind. What made her reticence all the more maddening to her – and she was sure to Harry as well – was that she knew without a doubt Harry would never deliberately hurt her and would give his last breath in order to not betray that trust. Ginny wished she could put into words what held her back, if for no other reason than to be able to explain to Harry why she could spend hours traversing the expanse of his body and still make herself stop.

She burst into the kitchen, chest heaving with the effort of running

'You're up early,' Molly said, from her seat at the kitchen table. 'I thought you might have had a lie-in this morning, given how late you came in last night.'

'Needed to run and I'd rather get it done early before it's too warm…' Ginny gasped, fetching a glass from a cupboard and filling it with cold water. She gulped it down so quickly, it splashed from the corners of her mouth and over her face.

'Tea?'

'In a minute,' Ginny said, wiping her face on a tea towel.

Molly Summoned a cup and prepared Ginny's tea while Ginny refilled her glass. 'You do this every morning?' Ginny nodded, downing the second glass of water more slowly this time. Ginny sat across from Molly and reached for the cup, corners of her mouth quirking a little at the idea of drinking the steaming beverage while the sweat of her recent exertions glazed her body. But she craved the soothing warmth of the tea like she craved Harry's touch on the back of her neck.

'Mum?'

Molly glanced up from the Sunday _Prophet_. 'Yes?'

The words stuck in Ginny's throat. Aside from the mortification of actually talking to her mother about sex, she was suddenly cognizant that it was something her parents had actually done. At her age, no less. The rather painful conversation regarding contraceptive methods available for witches the summer after her fourth year was seared into her memory. Her face flushed deeply and she buried her nose in her tea. 'Nothing.'

Molly spread marmalade over her toast and resumed her perusal of the newspaper. 'You know you can talk to me about anything, dear,' she said quietly.

Ginny nodded. 'I know.' _Just because I can doesn't mean I want to…_ she thought. She set her cup down on the table. 'So, I let a flat in Holyhead…'

'Near Charlie, I hope?'

'Close enough,' Ginny replied. 'It's not furnished, either.'

'That's easily remedied,' Molly assured her. 'When do you start practices with the Harpies?'

'Next week. July first.'

'You didn't give yourself much time to set it up, did you?'

'It's a studio flat, Mum. All I need is a bed, a small dining table, and some pots and pans and dishes,' Ginny argued. 'I've got a week to get settled.'

'We can go shopping tomorrow, if you like,' Molly offered.

'I thought I could go through the stuff in the attic and see if there's anything worth salvaging.'

Molly reached across the table and laid a hand over Ginny's. 'Ginny, your father and I, well, we always tried to do our best by you and your brothers,' she said, discomfort clearly stamped over her round face. 'We didn't always have the means to do so, and you and Ron seemed to be the ones who bore the brunt of our financial issues. And you deserved so much better than that.'

'Mum, they offered me a stipend for my flat. It was rather generous, actually. You and Dad don't have to –'

'I want to,' Molly interrupted. 'Let your father and me do this. Or at least do some of it. If you're determined to paw through the rubbish in the attic, there are a few bits up there that need a little work, but they'll be good as new.'

Ginny exhaled slowly. 'All right. After breakfast tomorrow. We'll get what I can't rescue from the attic.' She drained her tea and pushed the chair back from the table. 'I'll go wash and come back down and help get breakfast ready.'

'Ginny…' Molly's grip tightened on Ginny's hand. 'Independence is a good thing. But not so that you isolate yourself.'

'I know, Mum.' Ginny ran up the stairs, pausing in her bedroom to collect her dressing gown. What her mother said was exactly what Bronwyn had told her the other day. Ginny wondered if Molly had been the only one to say something, would she have listened to her?

xxxxxx

Hermione shuffled into the kitchen of her parents' house, yawning, squinting in the bright light. Her mother twirled her pen in her fingers, frowning. 'Six letter word for "china clay"…?' Hermione felt the side of the teapot and unthinkingly tapped it with her wand. Steam drifted from the spout and she poured a cup for herself. Curiously, Jane touched the teapot with her fingertips, jerking them away. 'Well, that's handy…' She looked up at Hermione. 'Six letter word for "china clay"?' she repeated.

'Does it start with something?' Hermione murmured.

'K.'

Hermione stirred sugar and milk into her tea and pushed her hair from her face. 'Hmmmm…' She studied Jane through half-closed eyelids. 'Kaolin? K-A-O-L-I-N.'

'Fits…' Jane scribbled the letters in the squares. 'So Ron was here late last night,' she commented.

Hermione refrained from spraying tea all over her mother. 'And…?'

'Just making an observation.' Jane picked up her tea and sipped it, examining her daughter. Her head tilted to one side. 'It's serious, isn't it?'

'Does it bother you that he was here so late?'

'It's not that he was here late,' Jane began. 'He could be here until breakfast for all your father and I care.'

'You should,' Hermione retorted. 'He's ravenous at breakfast. Can eat more than the three of us combined.'

Jane's brows drew together. 'Really?'

'Really.'

Jane shook her head. 'Don't change the subject. I don't care how late he stays. It's the extra-curricular activities…'

'It's not like you didn't know we were…' Hermione groped for an appropriate euphemism.

'Playing Scrabble,' Jane said quickly.

'Playing Scrabble,' Hermione agreed.

'Yes, well…' Jane doodled on the newspaper with her pen. 'It's one thing to be aware your child is, erm, playing Scrabble. It's another to know they were doing it across the corridor,' she said severely.

Hermione's brows arched. 'What makes you think Ron and I were… well… last night?'

Jane suddenly pushed her chair back and began to bustle aimlessly around the kitchen. 'You're a little bit… vocal,' she said tightly. 'I could hear you.'

Hermione buried her face in her hands. 'Oh, Merlin's holey Y-fronts…' Embarrassment thickened her voice. 'I am so sorry… We didn't mean to…'

'Hermione, you're an adult,' Jane said quickly, dying for this conversation thread to end. 'And playing Scrabble is a natural, healthy thing to do in a committed, consensual relationship. Just not while your father and I are here.'

Hermione flicked her wand at a loaf of bread, toasting several slices. 'Let me see if I understand you,' she mused, buttering her toast. 'While you and Dad are on holiday in September, it's perfectly acceptable for Ron and me to play Scrabble in every single room of this house? Just not while you're here and sleeping?'

'I didn't say that,' Jane grumbled, pulling eggs from the refrigerator. 'You were never this obtuse as a child.'

'Things change,' Hermione pointed out. 'And I'm not being obtuse. I'm just trying to understand what the difference is. Would it still bother you if Ron and I were married and did that here? Or would it bother you if I shared a flat with Ron, knowing that we'd share a bed every night?'

'Hermione Jane Granger that's not what I'm saying and you know it!' Jane stated. 'I merely expect that there ought to be a few boundaries, that's all.' She began to crack eggs into a pan. 'It's one thing to be intellectually aware of what you do with Ron in your free time, but quite another to have it waved about in front of my face.' She looked down in the pan. 'It's like your magic,' she added quietly, nearly under the sizzle and pop of the eggs. 'You do it so casually, without a thought about it. When you first went to your school. I didn't understand it and I was afraid you would be an outcast there, as well. But it took you away. You only came home for Christmas, what…? Four times? Then there was that time we went skiing and you left us and went back to London…'

'We're not talking about mine and Ron's physical relationship anymore, are we?' Hermione guessed.

'It's completely stupid,' Jane said to the pan. 'I just worry that if you didn't live here, your father and I would never see you… I'd never been on the periphery of your life before you went away to school,' she murmured. 'I've been on the outside, as an observer ever since. Mothers don't quite enjoy finding out they're no longer needed.'

Hermione slid her wand into the pocket of her light cotton pajama bottoms. 'You're my mother. I'm always going to need you, Mum. One day, I'm going to have children, and I don't know the first thing about them.'

Whatever Jane was going to say was cut off by the appearance of an owl tapping at the kitchen window. Hermione opened the window to let the owl in and took the letter tied to its leg. She reached for a cup and filled it with water, offering it to the owl. 'I'm afraid I haven't any Owl Treats,' she told it. 'But I've got toast.' The owl clicked its beak at her, and she fetched a few of her crusts, which the owl ate quickly, then dipped its beak several times into the cup of water. It hooted at her, then flew from window.

'That still takes some getting used to,' Jane sighed.

Hermione turned the purple envelope over in her hands, and used her wand to slit it open. Another sealed envelope fell into her palm. 'This is odd,' she said.

'How?' Jane slid the eggs onto two plates and set them on the table.

'This is Remus Lupin's handwriting,' Hermione said shakily.

'Hermione, isn't he... I mean, didn't he…?'

'Die, Mum?'

'Yes.'

'He did…' Hermione said distractedly. 'What is this…?' She tore open the envelope, and pulled out a closely written sheet of parchment. Her eyes darted from side to side as she scanned it.

_23 April 1998_

_Hermione,_

_One of the things that impressed me, aside from the vast cleverness you possesses, is after everything you've seen and done, you've still managed to retain your sense of outrage and justice regarding non-human magical beings. If you live to see the end of the war and finish school, it is my hope that you will be able to shoulder this responsibility in the event of my death. _

_The enclosed coordinates will take you to a farmhouse in the country. As of this writing, there are three werewolves living there under a Fidelius charm. I was the Secret Keeper. And now you are. _

_They are all good and decent men, Hermione. They deserve to have a voice that rings with all the passion of injustice and the desire to see a world where everyone is treated equally. I charge you with the task of their advocacy. _

_I will leave this with Kingsley, along with instructions to have this delivered to you in the event you either join the Ministry in some capacity, as I imagine you will – the theory being sometimes, you must work within the system in order to bring about change – or finish school, whichever comes first._

_You have my utmost faith and belief that you will someday succeed._

_Respectfully yours,_

_Remus J. Lupin_

'"When I was a child, I spake as I child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things",' Hermione murmured. 'I guess my childhood is really and truly over…'

xxxxxx

Harry carefully set a trio of brimming glasses on the table in the corner of a dark pub in London. 'God, I need this,' he sighed, picking up a glass and taking a long swallow, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth.

'Bad day at work, dear?' Ron snickered.

'Just long,' Harry replied.

'What happened?' Neville asked. 'Or is it something you can't talk about?'

'I missed out on some normal Auror training, skipping three years of it like I did, and there are some, ah, _holes_ in my education.'

'They're just finding that out?' Ron snorted.

'Annual evaluation,' Harry supplied. 'And they knew. But apparently, taking classes with the other trainees would undermine my authority, such as it is, with them as a full Auror. And attempts to arrange for me to undertake an independent study were laughable.'

'How's that?' Neville asked.

'Out on assignment, trial preparations, getting bombed in Belfast, spending almost two months recovering from the subsequent concussion, the trials…' Harry trailed off. 'So I've been informed I'm to go up to Hogwarts three days a week and work with the Defense teacher.'

'That's not so bad,' Ron said consolingly.

'Yeah, learning how to write field reports is so much fun,' Harry grumbled. He watched in fascination as a witch came up to the table and slipped an arm around Neville's shoulders.

'Hi, Neville,' she chirped.

'Hello, sweetheart,' he laughed. Ron and Harry glanced at each other.

Ron mouthed, 'Sweetheart?' Harry shrugged, with a moue of distaste.

'Are you coming by later?' the witch purred, running her hand through Neville's blonde hair.

'Try and stop me,' Neville promised.

'Ta ta for now,' she murmured, giving Neville a lingering kiss before sauntering away, hips swinging in a most provocative manner. Neville leaned from his chair to watch, a lascivious smile playing on his lips.

'Who was that?' Ron spluttered.

'Marjorie Tyson. She was a Hufflepuff two… no three years ahead of us.'

'And you're going to her place to…?' Harry ventured.

'Hopefully a shag,' Neville said, settling back in his chair, and picking up his lager taking a long, slow sip.

'So she's your girlfriend, then?' Harry asked.

'Marjorie? Nah,' Neville scoffed. 'We're just passing some time together, that's all.'

Ron and Harry exchanged another glance. 'And you're sleeping with her because…?' Ron coughed.

'Because it feels good,' Neville stated.

'So… How did you know?' Harry asked tentatively.

'How do you mean?' Neville asked.

'How did you know she was the one you wanted…?' Harry clarified. 'And that it was time…?'

'Harry, it's shagging,' Neville explained patiently. 'You don't think. You just do.' Neville took another slow sip of his lager. 'You don't have to be in some relationship.' He leaned forward. 'It doesn't mean anything.'

'And you're all right with that?' Harry asked faintly.

'Luna didn't seem to mind,' Neville offered.

'Wait,' Ron said abruptly. 'You and _Luna_?' He picked up his glass with an unsteady hand and drained half its contents. '_Luna_?'

Neville shrugged. 'Yeah. So?'

'Why?' Harry blurted. 'I didn't think the two of you were interested in each other.'

'We're not.' Neville sat back once more in his chair with a faint smile on his face. 'It was more of an experiment, than anything else. All those girls kept coming on to me last summer, and Luna was willing to try it out. Nothing romantic. No expectations.'

'Did she mention nargles?' Ron wondered.

'I don't believe so,' Neville replied. He finished his drink and pushed away from the table. 'I'm off. Don't wait up,' he said with a wink.

xxxxxx

Harry tapped his quill on the scroll of parchment that contained a draft of his report of the events in Belfast. He covertly glanced at Carter over the rims of his glasses. At this point, the older man was his best option. He rolled the parchment and stuffed it in his bag, then tucked the quill in after it. 'I was wondering if I could have a word with you?' Harry asked Carter in a rush before he could lose his nerve.

'Yeah, sure, kid.' Carter propped his feet on top of his desk, and tilted his chair back on its hind legs.

'Not here…'

Carter glanced around the office. 'Kid, there ain't a soul in this wing except you an' me. Shoot.'

Harry clenched his hands in his lap, and then reached out, plucking a spare quill from a cup on the edge of the desk. He twirled it in his fingers, eyes glued on it. 'I need to talk to someone,' he said. 'My dad is dead, and so are my godfathers,' he told him, including Remus as the godfather he was in everything but name. 'And the closest thing I have to a father just happens to be Ginny's dad, and I can't ask him about this, because, well, I just can't. And I can't talk to my best mate, because he's Ginny's older brother, and I've had the bones in my arm regrown before. It wasn't pleasant. And Ron probably could pummel me into the dust if he got worked up enough, and I know this would make him angry enough to go speechless, and if you're a Weasley, speechless is a sure sign of pure rage…'

'Harry, breathe!' Carter ordered. Startled, Harry inhaled with a strangled gasp. 'Tell me what you need to talk about.'

'How do you know the time is right to have sex?' Harry blurted.

'Never been with a girl before, huh?' Carter asked. Harry shook his head shamefacedly. 'Don't be embarrassed, kid. Nothin' to be ashamed of.' Carter reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a couple of butterbeers, pushing one across the desk to Harry. 'Normally, I'd have a beer with this kind of conversation, but this'll have t' do.' He twisted out the cork and tossed it into a letter tray. 'So what's the problem?'

'She's told me she's not ready to…' Harry mumbled, picking at the label on his bottle.

'And you're climbin' walls.'

'Yeah. Only so many cold showers a bloke can stand…' Harry took a long swallow of his butterbeer. 'It's not that she doesn't want… me… Just not yet…'

'Can't put a timetable on somethin' like that,' Carter said. 'But when she's ready, you'll know.'

'How?' Harry asked, desperation evident in every line of his body.

'She'll either come out and tell ya or seduce ya.' Carter chuckled. 'I've seen what she reads in her spare time, kid. I imagine she's pretty informed about the ins and outs of it all.'

'Oh…' Harry stared at the floor between his feet. 'Guess one of us ought to know what to do…'

Carter scrawled a book title on a scrap of parchment and shoved it toward Harry. 'Go to any Muggle bookstore. Buy that book. Read it. Study it. Don't try the advanced stuff until you've both got a little experience under your belts. There's nothin' more humiliatin' than trying to explain to a Healer how you ended up with a fork jammed in your skull.' He held up a hand as Harry's eyes widened. 'Don't ask, kid, 'cause I ain't tellin' ya.'

Harry slid the parchment toward him. 'Do I have to ask for the book?'

'Shouldn't have to.'

'Thanks.' Harry folded the parchment and slipped it into the pocket of his shirt.

'You know how to keep her from gettin' pregnant?' Carter asked point-blank.

'Yes. Arthur was quite adamant Ron and I learn how to –'

'Not the spells, kid. People who rely on those are called Mom and Dad.'

'I was planning on using what Ron and Hermione use,' Harry said pointedly.

'And that would be?' Carter inquired. 'I'm goin' to assume it's reliable if Miss Granger employs it.'

'Condoms.'

'Get yourself a couple o' boxes and practice puttin' 'em on,' Carter instructed. 'You can use a banana until you get the hang of it. The last thing ya wanna do is fumble with one o' those in the heat of passion, kid. It's a mood killer.' He pointed a long, blunt finger at Harry. 'No glove, no love, kid. You don't have any on you, do somethin' else. Understand me?'

'Yeah.' Harry could feel his face burning painfully. He fancied he could fry an egg on his cheeks just now.

Carter looked at Harry's bright red face and took pity on the boy. 'Come on. I'll walk ya down to Hogsmeade. You can Floo from the Three Broomsticks.'

Bemused, Harry gestured toward Carter's cold fireplace. 'But I thought I would… From here…?'

'You need some air, kid.' Carter wrapped a hand around Harry's arm and hauled him to his feet. 'So given how worried you are about Miss Weasley, have you thought about yourself in all this?'

Harry slung the strap of his bag over his shoulder. 'My friend, Neville, says there's nothing to think about and to just do it,' he informed Carter, looking down at the stone floor. 'He's so casual about it. Like he's talking about brushing his teeth or polishing his wand…'

Carter guffawed. 'No pun intended, eh, kid?'

Harry's mouth twitched at the unintended joke. 'Maybe just a little…'

'You disagree with Neville, though,' Carter affirmed.

'It makes me a little… queasy,' Harry admitted.

Carter slid his hands into the pockets of his jeans. 'I hate to tell ya, kid; I don't have easy answers for ya. All I can say is you'll know, because it'll feel like you've been in that moment a hundred years and you'll be there a hundred more.'

xxxxxx

A/N: Hermione quotes I Corinthians 11:13, King James Bible version.


	9. Coming Full Circle

Daffyd Rhys had been closely observing Charlie's work in the hatchery for some time. He was quiet and steady in his character, not given to flights of temper. There was a difficult dragon on the reservation and their efforts had only made matters worse. It was time to have new eyes look at the situation. 'Charlie,' he called softly. 'Walk with me.'

Charlie's throat bobbed as he swallowed audibly. He hoped the older man wasn't there to chastise him for seeing Bronwyn. Daffyd was Bronwyn's father, and he might want more for his only child than a dragonkeeper. 'Yeah. Okay.'

'Last year, right after the battle at Hogwarts, a dragon literally dropped into the reserve,' Daffyd said. 'I'm to understand it used to guard a vault in Gringotts.'

'All right.'

'We've had it separated from the others. It's no more violent than other dragons, as such things go, but it's quite unpredictable.'

Charlie had heard a few things from Bill regarding the treatment of dragons by the goblins, and the hair on the back of his neck rose. 'Okay.'

'Dragons don't respond well to being raised in captivity,' Daffyd told him. 'As I'm sure you know.'

'Yeah.'

Daffyd stopped in front of an enclosure and tapped it with his wand. 'You have to be very quiet. Any noise sets him off. We mostly try to keep him sedated, if we can. But it's not good to keep him that way all the time. And he won't tolerate being touched.' Charlie nodded and slipped into the spacious pen. The dragon shocked him into breathlessness. Emaciated, covered with half-healed scars, its eyes filmy with blindness. Its head swung toward Charlie's scent and emitted a rusty roar, sparks forming in the long throat. Charlie Summoned a chunk of recently killed deer and levitated it in front of the dragon's nose, hoping the dragon would attempt to eat. It raised a claw and swiped half-heartedly at the aroma of fresh meat, and took a few bites, then subsided into a drugged lethargy once more.

Charlie left the enclosure and sat on a knoll next to Daffyd. 'Why haven't you let him go?'

'He can't survive with the others. We tried that first. They nearly killed him. He doesn't know how to hunt, can barely fly anymore. And you saw for yourself he's blind as well.'

'I meant, why haven't you euthanized the Ironbelly?' Charlie said pointedly.

'We hoped he could be rehabilitated,' Daffyd admitted.

'If he'd been young, like the Ridgeback we took on in Romania from Hagrid, it's possible,' Charlie told him. 'But that's a very old dragon. He's likely spent his entire life until last May chained inside Gringotts being abused. He can't see, he doesn't eat, he's wasting away. I don't know why you need me to tell you that.'

'I don't. But you're the only one that's expressed the idea he can't be helped.' He stood and clapped Charlie on the back. 'Takes bollocks to be that honest with the reservation Head. You figure out a way to let that dragon die peacefully, and I'll back you up to anyone on the reservation.'

'There isn't a way to do this already?' Charlie blurted.

'Theoretically,' Daffyd said with a shrug. 'Not something we have to do regularly. Usually don't have much of a need to euthanize a dragon.'

'So keepers that come here for training aren't even taught how to do it?' Charlie asked incredulously. Even in Romania, it was used as a last resort, when all other options had been exhausted. But each and every one of them knew the basic methodology of brewing a potion that would painlessly – as far as they knew – euthanize a dragon. The trick was getting the proportions right. What would kill a Hungarian Horntail wouldn't necessarily have the same effect on a Swedish Short-Snout.

Daffyd looked uncomfortable. 'Not really. Like I said, it's not something we do much, if at all.'

'It'll take a few days to brew the potion,' Charlie said evenly. 'I'll have to go into London for the ingredients. Apothecary won't sell them through the post.'

'Come see me before you go,' Daffyd instructed. 'I'll have some papers for you so the apothecary doesn't give you any guff about it.'

Charlie nodded. 'I'll just go change,' he said, gesturing to his torn jeans. He walked back to his cabin with an unhurried gait, ducked into a hasty shower, then put on his one set of "good" clothes: a slightly faded button-down shirt of indeterminate age and a pair of khaki trousers, both blessedly free of holes. Charlie ran his hand through his damp hair settling it into place and strode across the valley to the tiny office off the hatchings' building. As Daffyd handed him a packet of official-looking parchment, Charlie muttered, 'Don't say anything about this until it's done, all right? I'll need a few blokes to help Stun the Ironbelly, but I'll take care of that.'

'You're in charge of this operation, Charlie,' Daffyd said. 'Do what you think is best.' Charlie nodded once, then left the office, tucking the parchment into his pocket. The line in the apothecary was long, and Charlie waited patiently until he reached the long, polished counter, presenting his list to the dour looking man on the other side.

'Nightshade, hemlock, foxglove, white hellebore…' The wizard studied Charlie. 'Planning on offing someone, then?'

'No.'

'Yourself?' The apothecary set the list on the counter, obviously waiting for Charlie to give him a good reason for the purchase of several fatal herbs in such large quantities.

'It's for the Holyhead Reservation,' Charlie sighed, handing over the packet Daffyd gave him.

'Sick dragon, eh?' The apothecary drew on a pair of dragon-hide gloves. 'No illness in the herds, is there?'

'Old and injured,' Charlie replied shortly.

'Letting it go peacefully, huh?'

'Going to try.'

'What breed?'

'Ukrainian Ironbelly.'

'Don't see Ironbellies in Britain very much,' the apothecary commented. He carefully poured a large amount of foxglove into a leather pouch. 'Wouldn't happen to be that Gringotts dragon what escaped last year, would it?'

'Perhaps. Perhaps not.' Charlie slid his hands into his pockets, rocking back on his heels a little, pretending great interest in the elaborately inscribed cards on the glass jars.

The apothecary carefully used Sticking charms to seal the pouches and packed them into a box, wrapping the lot with brown paper. He held it out to Charlie by the string tied around the parcel. 'Ironbellies, they don't really react to white hellebore. It'll calm 'em down a fair bit. Try and give him a good dose of that before you attempt giving him something else.'

'Thanks.' Charlie took the parcel and carried it out of the shop, bypassing the joke shop. He thought he ought to at least poke his head in and say a quick hello to George and Ron, but he wanted to start the potions as soon as he returned to Holyhead. Besides, he thought he might go to the family lunch on Sunday. It would do. Halfway back to the Leaky Cauldron, he came to a stop and spun around, wending his way through the crowds of people in and around the joke shop.

'Charlie!' George exclaimed in amazement. 'Reservation finally realize what a git they hired and kicked you out?'

'Ron here?' Charlie shouted back.

'Back room!' George told him.

'Thanks!' Charlie politely pushed his way through the crowd. He held the parcel close to his body so as to avoid crushing it in the press of people around him. He couldn't for the life of him imagine how George – and Ron, for that matter – seemed to thrive in this environment. He nudged the curtain aside and watched Ron for a moment. His youngest brother's sleeves were rolled back past his elbows, and Charlie realized for the first time how seldom Ron ever exposed his arms. Thin, pink scars spiraled up each arm, the lines of scar tissue so close together near his wrists that they looked like a larger injury. 'Oi,' he said quietly.

'Charlie!' Ron's face split into a grin. 'What brings you here? Decided to quit playing with dragons and come in with George and me?'

'No.' Charlie set the parcel on the table. 'That dragon that you, uh, liberated from Gringotts,' he began.

'What about it?' Ron set his wand down and wiped a hand down the front of his shirt.

'Dying.' Charlie indicated the neatly-wrapped box. 'I'm going to help make it as painless as I know how,' he promised.

Ron's mouth tightened and he nodded jerkily, retrieving his wand. He made a few more trick teacups then set his wand down once more. 'Don't let them use him after,' he begged.

'What?'

'Heartstring, hide, blood,' Ron recited. 'He's not…' He twisted his fingers together behind his back. 'Just don't let that happen to him.'

Charlie picked up Ron's dragon hide gloves sitting to one side of the table. 'Does it bother you to use these?'

'Of course not,' Ron blurted. 'Didn't know that one personally, did I? That Ironbelly saved my bloody life, didn't it? Figure I owe him something.' He ran an agitated hand through his hair, making his fringe stick up. 'It's just after everything it went through with the goblins…' He shrugged a little self-consciously. 'It just doesn't seem right to cut him up for his parts.'

'You don't have to explain yourself to me,' Charlie said gently.

Ron's head bowed for a moment and he plucked his wand from the table. 'Funny thing is, a year ago, I wouldn't have thought about it that way.'

Charlie lightly punched Ron in the shoulder. 'See what I can do, yeah?'

'Thanks, Charlie,' Ron said in a heartfelt whisper.

XxXxXxX

Ginny arrived at the stadium, already dressed in her practice kit. She walked into the changing room, and came to an abrupt halt just inside the doorway. Her cheeks flushed deeply at the sight in front of her. Twenty women paraded about the room in various states of undress, apparently unconcerned about their partial nudity. She felt her mouth drop open and ducked her head, blindly blundering into the first bench she came to. Hardly daring to lift her head, Ginny rummaged in her bag, emerging with a roll of thick, white tape and began methodically taping her wrists and fingers. Julia plopped next to her, pulling the light jumper over her head. 'All right?' she asked impishly.

Ginny nodded a little too vigorously. 'Just not used to…' She waved a hand at the rest of the changing room.

'It takes a little getting used to,' Julia agreed. 'Hogwarts' changing room isn't quite so…'

'Naked?' Ginny supplied.

Julia laughed. 'Yeah.

Gwenog strode through the changing room. 'No brooms today!' she called. A loud groan greeted this news. Ginny looked at Julia questioningly.

'Conditioning today,' Julia sighed. 'You think you were put through the wringer at the trials, wait until you see how you'll feel at the end of practice today.'

'They aren't going to hit Bludgers at me?' Ginny asked suspiciously.

'Worse,' Julia said a tone of dread. 'Running, bicycling, some mad Muggle thing called yoga, but I hear Gweong likes it. Weight training. Anything we can do on the ground, we'll do today.'

'Blimey,' Ginny said faintly.

Julia rolled her head, making her neck pop. 'Stay hydrated,' she advised. 'Drink water, as often as you can, whenever you can. Just remember, you'll be a better player for what she's going to put us through.'

Ginny laughed shakily and followed Julia out to the pitch. Gwenog waited until all twenty-one players assembled under the goalposts on one end, and led them on a three-mile run. She kept up a near-blistering pace that would have left Harry and the Aurors in the dust. Ginny was barely able to keep up. At the end of the run, she saw a table, set up under the awning that separated the Harpies' administrative offices from the changing room. Upon closer inspection, she saw neat rows of metal flasks, in dark green, with a golden talon. Underneath the talon, each player's name glimmered in gold etching. Ginny found the one bearing "Ginny Weasley" and took several gulps, screwing up her face at the slightly salty, fruit-flavored water. She refrained from spewing it into the grass and held the flask away, glaring at it accusingly.

Marion Brummel, the senior Chaser, chuckled. 'Tastes a bit off, doesn't it?' Ginny replied with a grimace, as she took another sip of the water. 'When you get so thirsty, your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth, it'll taste like ambrosia,' she vowed. 'Go grab that box,' she told Ginny. 'Take it to the other side of the pitch.'

Ginny swiped her sleeve across her forehead. 'What's in it?'

'Quaffles. We're going to practice throwing techniques.' Marion paused. 'And maybe you can show us that bouncy sort of toss you did at the trial.'

'If you had a pond and some small stones,' Ginny began uncertainly.

'Why?'

'Skipping stones,' Ginny said. 'My brother Fred taught me how to do that, and I thought it might be neat to try it with a Quaffle.'

Marion eyed Ginny appraisingly. 'After lunch. We'll have everything you need.' She headed for the opposite side of the pitch. 'Come on, Weasley. Get those Quaffles.'

Ginny pulled her wand from the pocket of her jersey sports trousers and aimed it at the chest. She directed it in front of her, and guided it to the group of women clustered under the goal posts. She set it down at the edge of the pitch. Gwenog beckoned her to join the rest of the Chasers. 'I think everyone's been introduced. Weasely, tell me everyone's name,' she barked in her gravelly voice.

Ginny's fingers knotted behind her back. She slowly unwound them and began with the starting side. 'Gwenog Jones, Marion Brummel, and Anna Horton.' Her head swiveled. The other two Reserves stood next to one another. 'Elsie Wright and Claire Russell.' The practice Chasers occupied the space between the starters and Reserves. 'Aimee Wellington, Felicia Barnes-Dare, and Brooke Connolly,' Ginny finished.

'Good,' Gwenog said shortly. 'I want three groups, each with a starter, Reserve, and practice player.' Ginny hung back a little, highly aware this behavior was quite unlike her normal ebullience, but hearing what that one woman had said during the trials made her wonder if the others felt that way, too.

Anna, one of the younger players, gave Ginny a small, sympathetic smile. 'Ginny,' she called, motioning for Ginny to join her and Brooke, who tossed a Quaffle from one hand to the other. Ginny nodded jerkily to Brooke, who appeared to be in her thirties. Brooke quite suddenly threw the Quaffle to Ginny, who had no choice but to catch it, clumsily, or risk having it smack her in the nose.

'Didn't you just finish school?' Brooke asked, more than a little snidely.

'Yes…' Ginny balanced the Quaffle on her fingertips.

'Still dating Harry Potter?'

'Yes.'

'Figures,' Brooke snorted, turning to Anna.

Ginny set her lower lip between her teeth and bit down firmly to bite back the retort that rose quickly to her lips. It wouldn't do to antagonize her teammates. Especially if she responded in kind regarding Brooke's skills as a player if she was truly as old as Ginny believed and was still relegated to the practice squad. 'All right,' Gwenog yelled. 'Get rid of it!' Startled, Ginny threw it too high, and it sailed over Anna's head.

'Sorry…'

Elsie kicked it back to Anna. 'No worries,' Anna said gently. She remembered how nervous she'd been her first day with the team. She tossed it casually to Brooke, who caught it one-handed. Brooke hurled it at Ginny. Ginny dodged the Quaffle, but backpedaled and caught it just before it hit the ground. She let out a soft _oof_ when she landed on her back. Without getting up, she all but shoved it through the air back to Brooke.

After several minutes of this, Gwenog finally called a halt. She gathered the Chasers into a circle, the Quaffles in a heap at her feet. 'Hands up! When you catch the Quaffle, keep your hands down. Throw to someone whose hands are still up! Remember who threw it to you and who you've thrown it to!' Once those words left her mouth, Gwenog tossed it across the circle to Claire. Ginny was the last one with her hands in the air. She held the Quaffle in bemusement until Gwenog barked, 'Throw it back to me, Weasley.' Ginny threw it to Gwenog, a flush spreading over her cheeks. Instantly Gwenog threw it to Claire, and they spent a few minutes throwing it in that pattern. Gwenog picked up another Quaffle and tapped it with her wand. It changed colors to purple and passed it to Marion, standing on her left. 'Purple goes clockwise!' Another few minutes passed, and Gwenog picked up another Quaffle and tapped it with her wand. It turned yellow and she held it up. 'Yellow in reverse!' she yelled, just before tossing it to Ginny. Ginny's eyes widened as the original red Quaffle, the purple one, and now the yellow one, all headed for her hands at once. The red one hit her in the side of the face and she bobbled it, using her forearms to catch it. She stood for a moment, juggling all three Quaffles, until she got a grip on the purple one, and handed it grimly to Anna. The red one headed for Gwenog and the yellow one to Marion. She briefly rubbed the sting on her cheekbone and held her hand out just in time to catch the orange Quaffle Gwenog sent flying at her. Without thinking, Ginny tossed it to Marion. 'All right. Stop,' Gwenog called. 'Get in your original groupings. Throw it on the run.' Gwenog picked up one of the fallen Quaffles and took off, followed by Felicia and Elsie. 'Get rid of it!' Gwenog shouted, throwing the ball to one of the other Chasers as soon as it touched her hand.

They darted through the other players, around members of the support staff, weaving through the stands and goal posts. Ginny made it a game in her head to try and see how briefly she could actually touch the bright red ball. It took her mind of the quivering muscles in her legs and arms. When Gweong finally called for a break for lunch, Ginny all but staggered toward the canteen with the others. 'All right?' Julia asked in concern.

'Yeah,' Ginny breathed.

Julia casually linked arms with Ginny, helping to unobtrusively steer the younger girl into the lounge. Ginny stiffened and half-heartedly attempted to pull away, but Julia tightened her grip. 'You don't want to show the starters any sort of weaknesses,' she murmured. 'They'll pounce on you like a hippogriff on a lovely dead ferret.' Ginny's eyes flicked to Julia. 'They'll need to know they can count on you, even if you're tired, bleeding, or missing an appendage.' Julia studied Ginny's profile. 'And it wouldn't hurt for you to socialize a bit. There's talk that you're… Erm…' Julia faltered. 'Swotty,' she mumbled.

'I'm not!' Ginny protested. 'I'm just trying to learn how things go here.'

'I know that, and you know that, but Ginny, I've been playing for years. It doesn't happen very often, but it's not unusual for someone to sign as a Reserve straight out of school. It's just that… you're somewhat… special…' Julia let go of Ginny to push the door of the canteen open.

'It's not like Harry's using his reputation to have the Harpies put me on the Reserves in exchange for sexual favors,' Ginny sighed.

Julia picked up a tray and handed it to Ginny. 'Of course not,' she soothed. 'Keep it light,' she suggested, nodding toward the food. 'You don't want to heave it all on your boots later.' Ginny chose a salad and a plate of steamed vegetables with rice, hoping it tasted as decent as it looked. The dark green flask suddenly appeared on the tray. 'And drink whatever's in that flask. It'll help keep you from cramping too badly later.' She led Ginny to a table off to the side. 'So you and Harry?'

'Just dating,' Ginny demurred.

'That's not what I've heard,' Julia informed her. She leaned forward conspiratorially. 'I heard that the two of you were up here the Saturday after the trials. You took him up to the flat you've let and you didn't emerge for hours…'

'We were just discussing how to arrange the flat,' Ginny hissed, feeling her face burn.

'And spending the night at _his_ flat?' Julia continued. 'Magical community's a small world, Ginny. And you and Harry…' She shrugged.

Deeply unsettled, Ginny stuffed a forkful of lettuce into her mouth. She chewed it briefly, then nearly choked swallowing it. 'We didn't do anything,' she insisted. 'We… haven't…'

Julia's spoon clattered against the rim of her bowl of soup. 'You're still a V?' she blurted.

'Shhhh! I don't think they heard you in bloody Montrose,' Ginny snapped. 'And yeah. I am. And why is it such a big deal?'

'It's not,' Julia replied. 'Surprising, though.'

Ginny lifted a tentative forkful of vegetables and rice to her mouth, chewing gingerly, then with more enthusiasm. It was quite good. 'How so?'

'He's lived with your family off and on for years, and well, it's not like either of you are fourteen.'

Ginny pushed a runner bean around the edge of the plate. 'We were a bit busy,' she drawled. 'Fighting in the war and all.'

'All the more reason,' Julia snorted.

'Could we change the subject?' Ginny asked pointedly. 'Please?'

'Sure.' Julia glanced around the canteen. 'They really do make it nice here,' she said. Ginny nodded in agreement. She only had a rudimentary idea how other teams were set up from the contracts she'd been offered by Tutshill, Kenmare, but she was beginning to be amazed at the amount of people that worked with the Harpies. People who handled ticket sales and the hospitality for visiting teams, reporters, and people who paid through the nose to watch the match in relative luxury. The witches who helped with their training, and the ones who ensured they stayed healthy. And just as the team was made up entirely of witches, so was the support staff. And while the team itself was owned by an old wizarding family, the one who consulted with Gwenog on matters of the team, and indeed from the day of the team's founding, was a witch.

Delighted giggles broke into Ginny's musings. A group of children ran into the canteen, trailed by young witches who obviously watched them during the day. Most of the children darted to members of the support staff, but a few trotted into the outstretched arms of a player. 'They have child care here?' she exclaimed.

'Didn't you do any research at all into the Harpies before you signed?' Julia asked in exasperation. 'What made you pick the Harpies, anyway?'

Ginny rested her elbows on the table and propped her chin in her upturned hands. 'The team, and apparently everyone that works for them, is discreet. Nothing I do or say is going to end up in _Witch Weekly_, or the _Prophet_, or in any other publication with a social or gossip column.'

'What? You expect to be anonymous?' Julia pointed her spoon at Ginny. 'I'll grant you that not everything you do will be scrutinized. But enough of what you do will be in the papers. Get used to it.' She Summoned two apples to the table and passed one to Ginny. 'Let's go walk, eh? Then you won't be so stiff after lunch.'

They took several turns around the pitch, munching the apples and comparing their respective mornings. It turned out that the Beaters had spent most of their time doing something called weight training to improve their strength. The Harpies were unique in that they employed several Muggle devices and techniques in their training. They spent just as much time on the ground working on things like passing the Quaffle back and forth as they did on brooms. After a bell sounded to mark the end of the lunch break, Ginny reported to a room next to the canteen. Several intimidating-looking Muggle contraptions lined the room. A middle-aged witch approached Ginny. 'You're Ginny, aren't you?'

'Yes…'

'I'm Maggie. Maggie Sullivan.' Ginny took the proffered hand and shook it firmly. 'I'll be working with you for the first several weeks, until you get used to the weight routine.' She led Ginny to a tall, glossy white monstrosity with pulleys and cables. 'Sit yourself down. Make sure this pad…' Maggie patted a cylindrical pad. 'Is resting on top of your thighs.' She showed Ginny how to adjust the seat and waited for Ginny to make the necessary changes. 'Reach up and grab that bar overhead and _slowly_ pull it down.' She watched as Ginny pulled the bar down to her shoulders. 'More… More…' she encouraged until the bar was below Ginny's chest. 'Now let it up at the same pace.' When Ginny's arms were outstretched over her head, Maggie nodded in satisfaction. 'Now repeat that. Three rounds of 10 reputations.'

Maggie took Ginny on a circuit of the room, patiently instructing her on how to use them. If Ginny thought she was wobbly after that morning, she was even more so after she slid off the final machine, legs trembling. Maggie sent her to the changing room to shower and change. Ginny grabbed her bag from her locker and trudged tiredly to a vacant shower stall. She flipped on the hot water and leaned against the marble wall, peeling her kit off, and letting it fall to the floor, and tugged the ponytail elastic from her hair. Rather than wash immediately, as was her habit, she stood under the flow of water, wishing she had Harry's lovely bathtub to soak in later. With a deep sigh of regret, Ginny washed her hair, cursing its length and the time it took to properly wash it without tangling it. She lathered a face cloth and began to scrub away the layer of dried sweat and grime accumulated during the course of the day. Her arms felt weak and leaden. She wearily shut off the water and used the towels waiting on the shelf on the other side of the curtain to wrap around her hair and dry herself. She dressed and emerged from the steamy cubicle and tossed her soiled clothes into a hamper, then dropped to a bench to comb out her hair.

'All right, listen up!' Gwenog said, over the murmurs of chatter. 'I've just received word from the captain of the Swedish national team that we can do our annual scrimmage and training with them next week. Portkeys leave here at eight Saturday morning. Do not be late, or you're going to find your own way to Malmö. We're only taking Maggie and Corrine with us,' she added, naming the other senior trainer. 'If you need to bring your sprogs, let me know by tomorrow morning, so I can make arrangements for that.' She paused. 'Questions? No. Brilliant. Tomorrow morning, on the pitch, with brooms at ten.'

Ginny's mouth suddenly closed with an audible _snap_. It had fallen open when Gwenog announced they were leaving for Sweden. On Saturday. In two days' time. The inside of her mouth felt as if she'd swallowed a mouthful of sand. She hadn't really been anywhere without her family, aside from Hogwarts, and even there she was surrounded by people she knew. 'Erm. Excuse me. Gwenog?' She pushed herself to her feet and stumbled after the captain. 'How long are we going to be gone?'

'A month, Weasley. We'll spend a week in Sweden, Lithuania, Italy, and Bulgaria.'

'Oh. I see.'

'And no guests,' Gwenog added significantly.

Ginny's shoulders straightened. 'Of course not.' She picked up her bag and filed out of the changing room, Apparating to the landing outside her flat. She opened the door and fell across the double bed. She thought she ought to see about organizing something for dinner, but she was too tired to even think beyond toeing her shoes off. She closed her eyes and let herself doze, drifting in and out until a series of knocks on the door made her sit up with a snort. 'Whaaa?' She stared at the door waiting, wondering if the knocks were meant for her door or someone else's. The door moved slightly, as the knocks repeated, slightly louder and harder.

'Gin? Are you home?'

Ginny slid off the bed and shuffled to the door. 'What are you doing here?'

'Molly thought you might not want to bother trying to cook today,' Harry told her, holding up a sizeable basket.

'She was right,' Ginny admitted, stepping back to let Harry into the flat. He set the basket on a freshly painted drop leaf table under a window.

'This looks like it used to be in the Burrow,' he commented. 'But I don't remember seeing it…' It was wooden and sturdy, with more than a few scars. 'She put enough in here to feed Ron and George…' he added, unpacking the food.

'It was. Until the twins came along,' Ginny replied, automatically removing two plates and cutlery for them both from the cupboard. 'It was tucked in the back of the attic.'

'How was your first day?' Harry asked.

'Exhausting,' Ginny said. She filled both plates and looked up at Harry. 'You'll be staying? You did come all this way…'

Harry indicated the second plate. 'Looks that way.' He grinned and held out Ginny's chair. 'So sit, eat, tell me how it went…'

Ginny plopped into the chair and picked at the chicken. 'I have to leave Saturday,' she burst out.

'Why?' Harry set his fork on the table.

'The Harpies, it seems, spend a month traveling to European national teams and training with them.' She took a bite of the chicken. 'It wasn't mentioned in my contract. All it said was I'd participate in any and all practices unless I was physically incapable of doing so. A bit blindsided by it, actually.'

'A whole month, eh?' Harry pushed a tomato around his plate. 'Won't be so bad. I can come visit,' he said brightly.

'No, you can't,' Ginny said miserably. 'No visitors.'

'Blimey,' Harry sighed. 'We can write,' he suggested. 'Better than nothing.'

'It's not the same,' Ginny argued, recognizing the futility of protesting. 'But it'll have to do.'

'I'll come up Friday after work,' Harry promised. 'We'll make a night of it. Give us both something nice to think about over the month. Ginny laughed, but it turned into a groan.

'Oh, don't make me laugh,' she breathed. 'It hurts…'

'What did they do to you today?'

'Before lunch or after?' Ginny's brows arched. 'I don't think I've ever thrown a Quaffle around that much in my life…'

XxXxXxX

Bronwyn opened the door of the hatchery. 'Adam, seen Charlie?'

'Stillroom,' he told her.

'Thanks.' Bronwyn left the hatchery and ran around the building until she came to a small stone addition on the edge of an herb garden on the end of the infirmary. She bounded through the door. 'Charlie, there's a group of us going down to London Saturday,' she began, trailing off as her eyes adjusted to the darkness of the stillroom, lit only by the fire under an enormous cauldron. She stepped closer to the table, recognizing the shape of the dried foxglove stalks. 'Why do you have that in here?' she demanded. 'It's bloody toxic.'

Charlie glanced up from his work. 'I know it is.'

Bronwyn peered into the cauldron, noting the shimmering violet potion. 'What are you doing?'

'My job,' he said shortly.

'Foxglove kills dragons,' Bronwyn stated mulishly.

'Yes.'

'Why are you planning to kill a dragon?'

'Because it's old, horribly ill, and it's dying anyway,' Charlie huffed, stripping his dragon hide gloves off. 'The least I can do it make it as painless as possible.'

'No, you're giving up,' Bronwyn countered. 'I know which one you're talking about,' she accused. 'Nobody wants to try.'

'Do I tell you how to do your job?' Charlie shouted. 'No, I don't. I saw the damn dragon yesterday,' he raged. 'It's effing hopeless, understand? There's nothing we can do for him! I'm not doing this because it's something I want to do. I'm doing it because it's what's best.' He yanked his gloves back on and decanted the potion into a large metal flask. 'Now, if you'll excuse me.' He shouldered past her and strode across the valley to the enclosure, where four other keepers waited nervously. 'Non-verbal Stunners only,' Charlie instructed. 'Any noise sets him off.' He indicated the broomsticks. 'We're going to fly over the top of the pen, Stun the Ironbelly on the count of three, and then I'll go in, and…' He held up the flask. 'Any questions?' The four keepers all shook their heads. 'All right. Mount up.' Charlie took the broom someone offered him, and hovered over the top of the pen. He held up his wand and with the other hand, counted down silently. Simultaneously, five red jets of light hit the sleeping dragon. Charlie cautiously flicked his wand and a blue jet of light prodded the dragon lightly, then more forcefully. 'Okay. I'm going in.' He directed the broom toward the ground, and produced a length of tubing and gently lifted the dragon's lip, slipping it between a large gap in the dragon's teeth, then fed the tube down its throat until Charlie could hear a gurgling sound that was clearly the dragon's stomach. Charlie rested a hand on the dragon's snout. 'I'm sorry, mate,' he whispered. 'I wish I didn't have to do this.' His fingers lightly stroked the rough hide. 'But you won't feel a thing. And I won't leave until you're… Well, you know.' He turned up the end of the tube, and carefully poured the potion down the tube until the last violet drop disappeared.

Charlie settled on the ground, gently stroking the dragon's scarred nose, murmuring nonsense, until he felt the hide grow cold under his hand. He flicked his wand at it, but no answering light rose over the still form. He gave the dragon one final pat, then rose to his feet and slipped out of the enclosure. 'It's done,' he said softly. Daffyd stood at the back of the group and Charlie caught his attention. 'I want it cremated,' he said. 'No harvesting anything from it.'

'Understood,' Daffyd said.

Charlie retreated to his cabin and walked inside, shutting the door firmly behind him.


	10. Lost In Translation

Charlie sprawled on the steps of his cabin, nursing a mug of tea. He eyed Bronwyn approaching him, and took a slow sip of the warm, milky liquid. She stood uncertainly at the bottom of the steps, shoving her hands into the pockets of her jeans. 'I took an oath to heal,' she stated. He merely gazed at her and waited. 'I took an oath to heal,' she repeated. 'It goes against everything I believe to euthanize anything.'

Charlie studied the tea inside his mug. 'I didn't like doing it,' he told her. 'I did it because it was the humane thing to do. I did what I was trained to do. It was already dying. Anything else would have prolonged its suffering. I can't condone that.'

Bronwyn tucked a wayward curl behind her ear. 'I didn't come to fight with you about it.'

'Brilliant,' Charlie said sardonically. 'Because there's nothing to fight about.' He pushed himself to his feet and retrieved the mug. 'I'm going to bed,' he said. 'It's been a long day.'

'Charlie…'

'Not now, Bronwyn,' he said softly. 'I just want to go to bed. I'll see you tomorrow after my shift.' He turned to go inside the cabin, but paused and met Bronwyn's troubled gaze. 'I've been doing this since I was eighteen years old. Nine years, Bronwyn. I've got loads more experience in handling dragons than half the blokes in the hatchery. You have to trust me to know how to do my job.' He walked into the cabin and the light glowing in the window presently went out.

XxXxXxX

The pub in Malmö was crowded and stuffy. Ginny finished her drink and set the empty glass on the long table occupied by the Harpies. She sat at one corner of the table, not really engaging in conversation with anyone else, aside from a comment here and there. She couldn't quite believe it had been less than forty-eight hours since she'd landed on the pitch under the goalposts and Gwenog neatly threw her life into unimaginable chaos.

Ginny liked to think that she was far more grown-up than she really was. Hadn't she fought Death Eaters at the mere age of fourteen? Then at fifteen? She'd fought alongside her parents at the final battle well before her seventeenth birthday. Here she was, a month shy of her eighteenth birthday, and she was a Reserve Chaser for a prominent Quidditch team. She had a flat of her own. She could see to her own meals and clothes. But it was the small things – the endless day-to-day details that bewildered her. The sounds of the pub faded around her as she thought back to yesterday afternoon.

_Ginny didn't stop to change from her practice kit. She collected her things from the changing room and hurriedly Disapparated to the Burrow. She hit the back door at a dead run, making it bounce off the wall and into her head. 'Owwww!' Ginny rubbed the spot over her right eyebrow, eyes watering. 'Mum!' she called._

_Molly's voice floated down from the attic. 'In Ron's room…'_

_Ginny raced up the stairs, taking them two at a time. 'Mum!' she panted. 'Do I have a passport? Where is it? How do I get one? ' she babbled._

_Molly emerged from Ron's room with a bundle of bedding in her arms. 'Yes, Ginevra, you have a passport. Calm down. We had to get one for you when we took you to visit Charlie when you were ten.'_

'_Where is it?' Ginny demanded, panic frantically clawing at her chest. If she didn't have her things in order, Gwenog might very well demote her before the season even started._

'_Why do you need it?' Molly inquired._

'_The team's going to Sweden, Lithuania, Italy, and Bulgaria for a month. We're leaving tomorrow,' Ginny said shortly._

'_I see.' Molly leisurely made her way to her bedroom dropping the bedding on the foot her own stripped bed. She opened a bureau drawer and rummaged under a pile of Arthur's socks until she came up with a small, purple booklet. Molly thumbed it open. 'It's expired. You'll have to try and get it renewed this afternoon.'_

'_How?' Ginny wailed. 'How could you let that happen?'_

_Molly lifted a censorious brow. 'What do you mean "me"?' she asked. 'You're of age.'_

'_But I didn't know I needed it', Ginny argued._

_Molly's other brow rose. 'You didn't read your contract?' she countered mildly. 'Your father and I read your contract. Even though you were technically of age, you were still in school.'_

'_Uh…' Ginny had, in fact, read the entire document, but had skimmed over some of the details, like travel documents. She had assumed she would only need them if the team made it to the European Cup. It hadn't occurred to her that she might need them for training. 'I forgot?' she temporized. 'With the trial and all…'' The panic rose higher in her throat, threatening to choke her. 'What do I do?'_

'_You do have a father and a brother in the Ministry,' Molly pointed out, retrieving the bedding. 'I'd start with Percy,' she advised. 'He'll tell you where you need to go.' Molly paused, taking in her youngest child, staring at her wide-eyed. 'The cost might be rather dear, especially since you need to have it by the end of the day,' she warned._

'_How much?' Ginny blurted, eying her mother suspiciously._

'_Several Galleons, at least.' Ginny groaned in despair. 'And Gin?' Molly ran a finger over the neckline of Ginny's fitted, dark-green shirt. 'You'll want to change first.'_

_It had been a bit humiliating to approach Percy and all but beg for help. But he'd taken Ginny in hand and led her to the correct MLE office, then guided her through the process of filling out the paperwork and having her photograph taken. They promised to owl it to her flat in Holyhead before six that evening. All for the low price of fifty Galleons. It made Ginny blanch to authorize that much from her brand-new Gringotts account, but it had to be done. It only took an hour to actually create the document itself, even with the spells required to make it look like an ordinary British passport to Muggles and resistant to magical tampering. Ginny couldn't wait. She had to go home to pack for the month ahead, so most of the cost went to the express owl that would bring the passport to her as quickly as possible._

Ginny quietly picked up her bag and left the table without saying anything to her teammates. She slipped through the throng, making her way to the door and the welcome coolness that waited in the street outside, unaware of the glances the senior players exchanged with one another. Once out on the cobblestoned street, Ginny took a deep breath, slumping against the side of the building. In all honesty, she felt exhausted after the past two days. She hadn't quite realized all that her life outside of school would entail.

She'd only left the country twice, and both instances had been with her parents. They'd seen to it all – the hotels, the Portkeys. Molly had handled their tickets and identification to the point where Ginny just had to show up on time. Even getting her Apparition license had been arranged by the school. Bronwyn had walked her through letting the flat. If Ginny bothered to think about it, her life had been remarkably free of responsibilities outside chores at home and her studies at school.

Rousing from her reverie, she scrubbed a hand over her face and struck off down the street. Like London, the most of the magical necessities were located on a winding street in Stockholm. But in Malmö they were scattered amongst the Muggle buildings and shops. Ginny was five blocks from the pub before she thought to glance around her surroundings. It was completely unfamiliar. She turned in a slow circle, hoping to recognize something. 'Shite,' she murmured, raking a hand through her hair. 'Right. We turned onto this street… three blocks from the pub…' She retraced her steps, eyes swiveling constantly from side to side. She turned onto a street with far more confidence than she felt, striding on the pavement for several meters before coming to the realization that the hotel wasn't on this particular street. She reversed direction and hurried in the opposite direction. To her dismay, the hotel wasn't on the other end of the street, either. Ginny shifted her back up on her shoulder a little more, aware of the hair prickling on the back of her neck. She could hear footsteps following her. She slowed her pace, and the steps slowed, too. She walked faster, and so did the ones behind her. Casually, she pulled her wand from the pocket of her jeans and spun around to face an eerily familiar figure. 'Luna!' she gasped. The other girl's blonde hair and pale, protuberant eyes were unmistakable, even in the dim light from a lamppost.

'Are you lost?' Luna asked.

Ginny blew out an exasperated breath. 'Yeah…'

'You must be here with the Harpies,' Luna said. 'It was in the newspaper.'

'We arrived this morning,' Ginny replied tiredly. She glanced around, confusion evident on her face. 'Had a practice with the Swedish team this afternoon, and I've just been following the senior players around,' she admitted sheepishly. 'I don't even remember the name of the hotel…'

Luna smiled widely. 'There's only one in Malmö that's large enough for the Harpies.'

'How do you know that?' Ginny asked far more sharply than she intended.

'I got here right after we got home from school,' Luna replied calmly. 'Well, I went home to visit Daddy for a few days, then came here. I've been given a fair bit of time to explore the city.' She peered at Ginny, noting the freckles standing out in stark relief on her nose, and firmly grasped her elbow. 'Let's have a cup of tea,' she suggested, towing Ginny into a small coffee shop a few doors away from where they stood. She waited until they both cradled cups of tea, Ginny huddled a bit forlornly in her chair. 'Can I ask you something?' Luna began.

'Of course,' Ginny mumbled into her tea.

'I've been following you since you left the pub. I saw you leave and thought you looked a bit discombobulated.'

Ginny rubbed an ache between her eyebrows. 'A bit,' she allowed.

'Were you there with the team?' Ginny nodded in reply. 'Ah.' Luna took a slow sip of her tea. 'Why didn't you ask any of them where the hotel is? They're your teammates, no?'

'Can't,' Ginny said .

'Why not? It seems silly to think you have to wander about like that.'

Ginny sighed. 'I didn't want them to know I hadn't been paying attention.'

Luna blinked. 'But they're your team,' she repeated blankly. 'I don't know much about Quidditch, but I've noticed the more you trust your team, the better it is.'

'I do trust them,' Ginny insisted.

'Not enough to let them know you didn't know where you were.' Luna set her cup down. 'How is it, really?'

Ginny shrugged. 'All right, I suppose.' She avoided Luna's gaze that seemed to look through her. 'A lot harder than I imagined. Physically, I mean,' she added ruefully. 'I could barely move yesterday morning.' She idly stirred her tea, feeling residual twinges in her shoulders.

_The sun streaming in the window over Ginny's bed prodded her into wakefulness. She groaned and burrowed into the pillows, unwilling to move any more than she absolutely had to. Every muscle ached, including ones she didn't know she possessed. She cracked open an eyelid, then blinked in bemusement at the small vial nestled on the pillow next to hers. A scrap of parchment was wrapped around it, covered with Harry's scrawl. **Drink this before you try to get out of bed. Have a hot shower – as hot as you can stand – and eat breakfast, even if you feel as if you want to be sick. And as odd as it might sound, keep moving today. It will feel better. See you later tonight. Love, H**. Ginny winced as she sat up and broke the wax seal over the cork embedded in the mouth of the vial and waved it gingerly under her nose, gasping as the acrid aroma singed her nasal passages. She eyed the vial dubiously, and started to swing her feet to the floor, but her legs ached from her ankles to her hips. Sighing in resignation, Ginny held her nose and tilted the vial over her mouth, shuddering as it burned its way down her throat. She coughed and spluttered, using the hem of the t-shirt she had slept in to wipe her tongue. She experimentally slid one foot, then the other to the rug next to the bed, able to move more freely than she had mere moments ago. She eased from the bed and shuffled to the tiny bath, stripping the oversized t-shirt over her head as she did so. She leaned against the wall, twisting the taps on in the bath, and waited for the water to heat up._

_Ginny wasn't looking forward to that day's practice. Everyone was watching her slightest move to see if she would succeed. She was even more certain that some were hoping she'd fail. In all honesty, she couldn't blame them. If she had been in their shoes, she might have wished for the same thing. She held a hand under the spray, testing the temperature, then pushed the curtain back a little before painfully stepping over the edge of the bathtub and into the steaming hot water. She let the water stream over her skin for several moments before slowly rolling down, vertebrae by vertebrae until she could rest her hands on the floor of the tub between her feet. The potion was starting to ease the ache in her muscles. Ginny carefully straightened and stretched her arms over her head, then twisted from side to side a few times before she reached for the cake of soap and a face cloth._

_The shower made her feel somewhat more awake and she was starting to feel hungry, even though the idea of eating more than a few pieces of toast was revolting. She shut off the water and wrapped a towel around her hair and another one around her body. She dressed in a well-worn pair of jog pants, more for the ease in putting them on than their style, and a t-shirt that enveloped her frame. She would change into her practice kit at the stadium anyway. A round of strong tea and toast while sitting in the deep, sunny windowsill made her feel nearly human. Ginny glanced at the softly ticking clock on the wall and gasped as she slid to the floor and placed her cup and plate in the sink, promising herself she'd wash it later. She quickly shoved her feet into her trainers and grabbed her bag and broom, Apparating to the stadium while still settling the bag on her shoulder._

_Even if she did Splinch herself, it wouldn't do to be late. _

'It's hell,' Ginny found herself saying. After all, this was Luna. The girl she'd played with as a child from time to time, one of the few people who hadn't avoided her second year, but made an effort to seek out her company. Luna, who seemed so dotty, but was amazingly insightful regarding human emotions. Luna would never betray her trust. 'I keep hoping it will get easier. The trial was draining, but it was nothing compared to the breakneck pace of the regular practices.'

'And the other members of the team?' Luna persisted.

Ginny leaned back in her chair, swallowing her rapidly cooling tea. 'They're all right,' she allowed cautiously. 'Most of them are.' She looked down at the scarred table. 'Some of them think I'm there because of Harry,' she admitted. 'As a gimmick.' To her great surprise, Luna gave a decidedly unladylike snort.

'Bollocks,' Luna declared. 'I think I might actually know less than Hermione about Quidditch, but professional teams generally don't go for cheap tricks with players.'

Ginny smiled crookedly. 'You know me,' she said lightly, but her voice caught. 'Have to prove to the world I can do it on my own.'

'But you can't, you see,' Luna said placidly.

'Why the bloody hell not?'

'You can't win a game without a team,' Luna replied patiently.

'I don't mean that,' Ginny sighed. 'I mean _surviving_ it all.'

Luna studied her, a sad light in her eyes. 'Didn't you learn anything at school? We won because we worked together.'

'That was different,' Ginny argued. 'That was war. This is my life.'

'Are you going to shut out Harry?' Luna shot back. 'Just so you can do it yourself.'

'Of course not.' Ginny toyed with a spoon, letting the silence spool between them. 'Dad once brought home this stack of Muggle magazines he nicked from someone's rubbish bin. They were mostly about nature. The boys didn't care for them, aside from the odd one that featured women with no clothes on. Those tended to disappear rather quickly.' Ginny giggled a little. 'The articles that featured animals always talked about how the stronger ones would prey on the weaker ones.' She took a deep breath. 'I don't want to be one of the weaker ones.'

Luna studied Ginny closely, allowing a faint haze of pity to come into her gaze for the first time in their friendship. 'Inexperience doesn't mean you're weak,' she ventured.

Ginny shook her head. She could hear Bronwyn's admonishments to allow herself to have a confidant, but to Ginny that was strictly limited to Harry or family members to which she was closest, like Ron, and perhaps Bronwyn. It was one thing to allow one of them to see her in those moments of vulnerability, but for people who were supposed to be able to count on her? 'There are more people on the team thinking or hoping I'm going to fail than those that want me to succeed,' she said quietly. 'I can't let them see me like this.' She pushed her mostly untouched cup of tea aside. 'I ought to get back to the hotel.'

Luna tossed a few coins on the table and slung her bag over her head, settling it on her shoulder. 'The hotel's just down the next street.' She led Ginny out of the coffee shop, striding down the pavement with a mature confidence Ginny had never seen at school. Luna had come a long way from that misty, slightly dotty girl Ginny had played with occasionally before they started Hogwarts. When Luna turned down the fourth street from the pub, Ginny groaned silently to herself. Just one more street and she would have been relaxing with a book instead of wandering aimlessly about Malmö. At the entrance of the hotel, Luna laid a hand on Ginny's arm. 'You'll write to me, yes?' she asked anxiously. Startled, Ginny nodded. 'Good. Everyone has been very nice, really, but it'll be nice to hear a familiar voice, such as it is.'

Ginny quickly embraced Luna. 'Thank you,' she murmured. 'For everything.'

'Anytime.' Luna's face brightened with her smile and she lightly skipped away, leaving Ginny with the sensation that another piece of her childhood had vanished. Ginny watched as Luna disappeared into the city, then turned to face the hotel, fishing for the chunky, old-fashioned key to her room in her bag.

'Friend of yours from school?' Marion asked, appeared so suddenly next to her, Ginny fancied she'd Apparated soundlessly.

'I… Erm… Yes. Luna. We were in the same year. Different Houses, though.'

'Hmmm. Nice of her to show you back,' Marion commented noncommittally.

'I would have found my way back,' Ginny said defensively, feeling her cheeks grow hot.

'How long would you have wandered about before you deigned to ask for directions?' Marion asked idly, plucking Ginny's key from nerveless fingers, and entering the hotel lobby. 'Come on. Let's go inside and have this conversation upstairs.' She strode into the hotel, leaving Ginny no other choice than to follow her to the lift that rose gracefully to the fifth floor. Marion led Ginny to the suite they would share for the next week and used Ginny's key to unlock the door. Marion tossed Ginny's key back to her and flopped on the small sofa under the open window. 'What a relief,' she sighed. 'I'm getting too old to hang about in pubs. Too bloody noisy.'

Ginny tucked the key back into a small pocket in her bag. 'Yeah…' She shuffled her feet uncertainly for a moment before tilting her head toward the door. 'I'll just go…' she muttered.

Marion pointed to a nearby chair. 'Sit yourself down. You and I need to have a bit of a chat.'

Ginny pressed her lips together and perched on the edge of the seat. 'I'm really tired,' she protested feebly.

'You can stay up for this,' Marion said evenly. 'I know you're an adult and can manage your own affairs, but this is a strange city for you. Why did you not at least _tell_ one of us you were leaving?'

'I didn't want to bother anyone,' Ginny said lamely.

'Rubbish,' Marion huffed. 'I've been watching you at practices. Asking for anything is not something that comes naturally to you.' She leaned forward, holding Ginny's gaze insistently. 'Gwenog asked me to keep an eye out for you. To be a bit of a mentor to you, considering you've been put into somewhat of a difficult situation.'

'Thank you,' Ginny replied stiffly, indignation coloring her voice at the idea that Gwenog felt she needed minding, like a baby.

Marion chose to ignore Ginny's tone. 'Gwenog merely felt you might need someone to walk you through the ins and outs of traveling with the team.' She settled back into the cushions of the sofa. 'Why did you sign with the Harpies, if you don't mind me asking?'

Ginny wrapped the strap of her bag around her hand meditatively. 'I thought you were discreet,' she said finally. 'That anything that happened off the pitch would stay that way. And because the Harpies are a bloody good team. I was honored and more than a little flattered that Gwenog would offer me a position.'

Marion snickered. 'That's a classic interview answer if there ever was one.' She smoothed her hair back from her face. 'You trusted your team at school, no?'

'Of course I did! We were all friends. Or at least friendly.'

Marion nodded slowly. 'You have to trust us. We can't play as a team, if you don't trust us. I know Brooke was a bit nasty to you the other day, but put yourself in her shoes. She's been toiling away on the practice squad for years, waiting for a chance to move up. And some mere slip of a girl snatches it away from her.' She held up a hand to forestall any argument Ginny might have had. 'You're a much better player than Brooke, no question. There isn't anyone on the starting side that doesn't believe you shouldn't be where you are. I can promise you that none of us think you're here for any other reason than for your talent.' Marion gave Ginny a long, measured look. 'To be honest, Ginny, it was your demeanor during the trial that gave us a bit of a pause. If you weren't so bleeding good you'd be on the practice squad otherwise. We can't be a good team unless you're willing to _be_ a part of the team, and not just on it.

'Good teams are like a family. You've got relations you'd rather not speak to, save for holidays, and then you've got the ones that are your best friends. There's a reason Gwenog has us train abroad like this. I know you were upset when she said no visitors. You feel like you're out here completely on your own without a friendly face around. This way you're forced to look to your teammates. You have to get it through your head that you can rely on us,' Marion added pointedly. 'Muggle poet said it best. "No man is an island." And no Chaser is an island, either.'

Marion rose to her feet and stretched elaborately. 'Get yourself to bed, yeah? Breakfast is at eight with the team. Get there early. And the next time we're out, and you want to go back to the hotel early, for Merlin's sake, _tell_ somebody. It's not a bad thing to admit you don't know your way around a strange city. We've all been there. One of us will tell you how to get back, or more likely one of us is ready to go, as well, just too proud to admit you can't keep up with the young ones anymore.' She headed toward her room on the other side of the suite. 'Good night.'

Ginny stayed in the chair until the door to Marion's bedroom closed firmly behind her, and stared at the lamp on the small table near the sofa until the flame blurred. She gathered her bag into her arms and quietly tiptoed to her room.

Ginny undressed with the soundless ease won from seven years of sharing a dormitory and slipped into the wide bed, feeling lost. She spent a few agonizing hours thinking about what Marion had said. It was nearly the same speech she'd received from Bronwyn. _What's wrong with me?_ If she'd been at home, she could have gone to Harry's, but that wasn't an option. It wasn't validation she sought. She wasn't a shy creature by nature, and the only way she could explain this unnatural reticence was based in how she felt others perceived her presence on the team. And one of the only people who knew how she felt was Harry. Besides, being asked to put her trust into people she didn't quite know very well put that entire disastrous first year back into her head, with Tom's silky, insidious voice tickling the edges of the memories. Ginny curled into a ball, wrapping her arms around her knees. She felt lonelier at this moment than she had her entire second year of school.


	11. Changes Come With the Dawn

Ginny reached over in the dim morning light to switch off the alarm she'd set the previous night. According to the softly glowing face of the clock, she still had a good forty-five minutes in which to sleep, but she'd already lain awake for half an hour. Experience had taught her she wasn't going back to sleep. She could hear someone moving about in the common room between her bedroom and Marion's, attempting to be quiet, but inevitably making more noise than if they'd behaved normally by running into the sharp corner of a piece of furniture. That someone proved to be Marion, a flood of colorful curses floating to Ginny's ears. Ginny giggled to herself and slid from the bed, padding to the bedroom door. She opened it a bit and peered at Marion, half-dressed, hands on her hips, glaring at the low table near the small sofa. Ginny withdrew slightly, wondering if Marion would prove to be the nosy type and want to know all of her darkest secrets. There were things she hadn't even told Harry, and she certainly wasn't going to reveal it to a total stranger. Her hand tightened over the doorknob and it rattled under her hand. Marion's head swiveled toward Ginny. 'How long have you been awake?' she demanded.

Ginny glanced at the clock. 'Since a quarter of six,' she replied.

Marion snatched up the baggy pair of jog pants from where they'd landed when she had dropped them earlier, and slipped them on under the voluminous t-shirt she already wore. 'Seen my trainers?'

Ginny took a few steps into the common room. 'I… I don't think so…'

'Excellent,' Marion groaned. 'I just bought the bloody things.'

'Sorry,' Ginny murmured.

Marion studied Ginny, hands on her hips. 'So we ought to get a few administrative things out of the way if we're going to room with each other for the next month. Are you habitually an early riser?'

'Sadly, yes,' Ginny replied. 'Nobody had a lie-in with my mother around. She could always find something for you to do. And I woke up early at school the last few months to get in some extra training for my trial. I'm usually awake by six-thirty.'

'Wish I'd known that five minutes ago,' Marion sighed. She shuffled to a small table, laden with tea things, the hems of her jog pants dragging on the carpet. 'So am I. An early riser, I mean. But only during the season. During the first few weeks of the off-season, I've been know to sleep until noon.' She held up a mug. 'Tea?'

'Thank you, yes.' Ginny edged into the common room, hovering near the sofa.

'For Merlin's sake, child, don't stand on ceremony with me,' Marion said far more sharply than she'd intended. Ginny's silence was a tad unnerving. 'We're teammates.' She measured tea leaves into the pot and swirled her wand over the top, sending steaming water streaming over the leaves. 'You make the tea tomorrow.' Marion replaced the lid and turned back to Ginny. 'So. Tell me a bit about yourself.'

'Like what?' Ginny asked warily. She dropped to the sofa, tucking her feet under her, wondering why Marion was so interested. She didn't want to offer information that could be used against her.

'Family? Brothers? Sisters?'

'I thought everyone knew that,' Ginny said resignedly. 'I'm a Weasley…'

Marion chuckled softly. 'But I'd still like to hear it from you. Nothing too personal, if that's how you want it.'

'I'm the youngest of seven,' Ginny said. 'The first girl to be born a Weasley in generations,' she intoned in the pompous tones of Percy. 'Dad works for the Ministry and Mum stayed home with the lot of us. She had to be bored out of her mind when I went to school, because she didn't have to cook and clean so much.' She accepted the mug Marion handed her and added sugar and a little milk to it. 'Not much to tell, really.'

'Tell me about your brothers,' Marion prompted. 'What did they do when they finished school?'

Ginny absently twirled a lock of hair around her index finger. 'Bill, the oldest works for Gringotts. He's married to a girl he met while she was here participating in the Triwizard from Beauxbatons. Fleur.' A ghost of a smile wafted over Ginny's face. 'I didn't care for her at first when he announced they were engaged. Even called her Phlegm,' she added with a hint of embarrassment at her adolescent behavior. 'She's part Veela, you see, and I was convinced she'd worked some sort of charm over Bill. I was wrong, though. She really is quite nice. We didn't make it easy for her in the beginning. Charlie works in Holyhead at the dragon reservation. He worked on a reservation in Romania when I was younger. I only saw him a few times here and there when he could get away or when Mum and Dad could scrape together the gold to go see him.' Ginny caught herself and took a scalding sip of tea. She hadn't meant to air her family's financial laundry to a virtual stranger. 'With so many of us in school…' she muttered.

Marion sprawled on the edge of an armchair, nodding. 'Of course,' she said smoothly. 'Getting your things for Hogwarts isn't cheap.'

'At one point, there were five of us in school at once,' Ginny explained, her cheeks warm. She coughed and took of sip of tea to cover her discomfiture, and changed course. 'Percy works with Kingsley, erm, I mean… the Minister… Mr. Shacklebolt…'

'How do you come to call the Minister of Magic by his given name?'

'Oh, well, he worked with…' Ginny stopped talking suddenly. She had been about to tell Marion that she knew Shacklebolt from his time with the Order of the Phoenix, but ingrained habit stilled her tongue. Order business was not meant to be discussed with people who hadn't been part of the Order. 'He, erm, worked with my father and knows my family,' Ginny temporized. She rearranged herself on the sofa into a more comfortable position. 'My brothers Fred and George opened a joke shop in Diagon Alley. They ran it as an owl-order service from school for roughly a year before obtaining premises. Fred… He, uh…'

'I know,' Marion said gently.

Ginny's lips pressed together and she swallowed past the tightening of her throat, grateful she didn't have to actually put Fred's death into words. 'George still runs it. With my youngest brother, Ron.'

'And Harry Potter?'

Ginny's mouth opened to refuse to play along, to state that Harry was a restricted topic, but she found herself saying, 'He's Ron's best mate. He spent holidays with us whenever he could. My parents have sort of adopted him.'

Marion's lip curled slightly in distaste. 'And that's not weird with the two of you dating?'

Ginny started slightly, slopping tea over the rim of the mug, swiping her hand over the knee of her pajama bottoms. 'Oh. No. It's not like that.'

'You mean you're not seeing each other?' Marion said in bemusement.

'We are, but I've never seen Harry as just another brother,' Ginny stammered. She wasn't about to tell anyone about her childhood fairy-tale fantasies about Harry.

'Hmm.' Marion contemplated Ginny and drank her own tea for several long moments. 'So why don't you rely on other people?' At Ginny's look of alarm, she flapped a hand to encompass the room. 'It won't leave this room.'

Ginny chewed her lip, thinking. She didn't have to tell Marion all the details of things she'd rather forget. Just the bare bones would do. 'I trusted someone at school who used me to do his dirty work,' she said heavily. 'I love my brothers, but it was my first year, and they sort of left me at a bit of a loose end. This person took me under his wing, and made me believe he was my friend when I thought I didn't have anyone else.' She rubbed her nose to stem the tide of unexpected tears and quipped, 'Besides, with six older brothers, asking for help was as just begging to have heaps of ridicule and scorn brought down upon your head. If I wanted to do something with them, like play Quidditch, I had to learn how to do it on my own and be twice as good as them.' She looked down at the sturdy mug cradled in her hands and shrugged. 'It's second nature now.'

Marion drained her tea and set the mug firmly on the table. 'Well, habits can be broken,' she said briskly. 'Starting today. We're going to the pitch after breakfast, and the pace is going to be at breakneck speed for the next month. You won't have much time to work things out for yourself. Not if you want to keep your position.' She rose to her feet and stretched. 'Get yourself washed and changed. We have a private room for meals here. And Gwenog likes for us to sit at one big table. Build up team camaraderie, you know.' She paused and studied Ginny. 'It's rather like a family dinner. They shout, you shout back.' Marion headed back to her room. 'I do hope you don't take an age in the bath,' she said off-handedly over her shoulder.

'There's only the one bathroom in my parents' house,' Ginny offered. 'The day Bill got married there were twelve people in the Burrow. I can shower in five minutes if need be.'

'Fantastic,' Marion smirked. 'When Helen first joined the team, we shared a room. That bloody woman takes over an hour in the bath. Spent the month feeling rushed. I said never again. That's why I wake up so early now.'

Ginny gaped at Marion. 'I don't believe I've ever spent an hour in the bath…' she breathed in wonder. 'That sounds so decadent.'

Marion fished a hair elastic from a pocket of her jog pants and bound her hair into a tight ponytail. 'Don't start now, hm? I'd like to get to breakfast before all that's left is cold porridge.' With that, Ginny darted into the bathroom with alacrity and hurriedly showered and dressed.

Ginny and Marion were one of the first to arrive at breakfast. Plates were stacked on one end of a long table laden with eggs, bacon, toast, bacon, scones, sausages, grilled tomatoes, and fresh fruit, along with the aforementioned porridge. 'Don't be shy,' Marion advised, picking up a plate for herself. 'You're going to need it later.' Ginny needed no further prompting. She hadn't eaten much the past few days and quickly loaded a plate, carrying it to a seat at the end of the table.

The other players began to file into the room in ones and twos. Conversation was blessedly muted, and for the most part, they focused on their breakfasts and the day at hand. Gwenog arrived just before eight, consulting a clipboard. 'Scrimmage with Bulgaria begins at ten. We'll be at the pitch at nine sharp. I want you changed into your kit and with your brooms at nine-fifteen. You bring your best moves today. I'm in no mood to listen to the Bulgarian captain gloat.'

XxXxXxX

The Quidditch pitch for the Swedish national team was located near the Norwegian border and the North Sea. Like the stadium in Holyhead, salt-laden wind toyed with the ends of Ginny's hair, tugging errant strands from her plait and blowing them across her eyes. She stood on the grassy edge of the pitch, staring at the low, grey clouds scuttling across a dull sky. 'You can play tourist on your own time,' Gwenog barked. 'Get changed.'

Ginny dutifully filed into the changing room and found the cubicle with her name scrawled over it in chalk. She opened the door and found three different versions of her kit hanging inside. One was predominantly dark green, with her name, team number, and the team insignia in shimmering gold. The next had dark green trousers with a gold jumper. The last was a lighter shade of green. Ginny gulped and her fingers clenched around the edge of the cubicle door. Mindful of Marion's admonition to ask for help, she peeked around the door and leaned closer to Anna, one of the starting side Chasers. 'Which one do I wear?'

'The light one,' Anna murmured, with a sympathetic grin. She wished more than once that Gwenog would just write a handbook for new players and be done with it, rather than throwing them in the deep end to see if they could swim. It would dispense with so many awkward questions. 'Always the lighter green one for practices. The dark green one is for home games, and the green-and-gold kit is for away games.'

'Thanks,' Ginny whispered. She glanced furtively around the room, and wriggled into the jumper, leaving her t-shirt on, and trying to expose as little skin as possible. She wasn't quite comfortable about disrobing in front of so many other people.

'Just drop 'em, Ginny,' Marion advised, walking behind Ginny, fastening her trousers. 'It's much faster. Nobody's looking.'

Elsie shimmied into a snug sports bra. 'It gets easier,' she said to Ginny from Ginny's other side. 'It's a little disconcerting to be confronted by so much flesh fresh out of school. My first year, I wanted to crawl under a bench and die from embarrassment.' She continued, but her voice was muffled by the jumper she pulled over her head. As her head popped through the neck, Elsie called across the room, 'Oi! Mandy! Who was that Keeper that was here before Caroline? You know the one with the generous breasts?'

Mandy buckled her belt and tugged her jumper into place. 'Ah… Let me think… She had an old-fashioned posh sort of name… Like Tilly…'

Matilda snorted and tucked the laces of her boots into the tops. 'Matilda isn't posh,' she grunted. 'Old-fashioned for sure, though.'

Mandy giggled and plopped to a bench to put on her own socks and boots. 'It was something like Henrietta or Wilhelmina…'

'Edith!' Helen exclaimed. 'That was her name! Good Keeper, despite her figure…'

Elsie glanced at Ginny, who had now managed to change under the cover of the other players' chatter. 'Anyway, Edith would walk around completely starkers and you'd swear her tits needed a kit of their own. After a couple of weeks, you sort of got numb to it.' She lowered her voice. 'It'll pass.'

Ginny nodded and drew her thick socks over her feet, strapping the shin guards over them. 'Thank you,' she mouthed to Elsie. The conversation had been a welcome distraction for her. She felt in her bag for a spare ponytail elastic and shoved it into her pocket, then grabbed her broom and left the changing room to sit on the grass at the edge of the pitch and plait her hair. As she worked her arms behind her head to weave the auburn strands into a French plait, a shadow fell across her face. She glanced up, squinting at the source, annoyed at the accompanying aroma of aftershave. It was decidedly foul and the poor sod had doused himself with it.

'Vell, vell, vell, Ginny… Ve meet again,' drawled a vaguely familiar voice over Ginny's head.

_Where do I know that voice from?_ she thought, peering over her shoulder. A pair of duck-toed feet came into view and a memory tugged at her. 'Viktor Krum?' she asked hesitatingly.

'This is a pleasant surprise to be seeing you here,' he said, joining Ginny on the grass. 'Are you vith the Harpies?'

'I, erm, yes,' Ginny replied, struggling to finish plaiting her hair. Gwenog would have kittens if she let her hair fly about during the scrimmage.

Viktor smiled smugly. 'You look very vell,' he commented. 'Vot happened to the boy you vere dating ven your brother married Fleur?'

'The boy I was dating…?' Ginny murmured, confused. 'What boy…?'

Viktor waved aside the question like an annoying gnat. 'Never mind him. I am correct in thinking he is out of the picture, yes?' At Ginny's continued blank expression, he nodded in satisfaction. 'Good. He vas not vorth your time.'

'I don't –' Ginny began, only to be cut off once more by Viktor's monologue.

'You need a real man,' he said, leaning closer to Ginny. 'One who can handle your… spirit,' he added, blatantly admiring Ginny's body.

Behind them, stood Helen and Marion. Helen gestured silently at the pair, making an inquiring face and Marion shook her head no. 'Not yet,' she breathed. 'If she can't fight off that inept wooing, then there's no hope for her,' Marion whispered nearly soundlessly.

Ginny messily her plait, binding it carelessly with the ponytail elastic, then attempted to stand up. 'It was nice to see you again,' she said politely, 'but I really must—' Her voice squawked indignantly has Viktor's hand closed around her wrist yanking her back to the grass.

'Come haff a drink vith me after the scrimmage,' he said in a commanding invitation.

'No, thank you,' Ginny sighed, experimentally pulling on her wrist still encapsulated in Viktor's meaty hand. It didn't budge.

Viktor blinked, then began to chuckle. She was obviously angling for more than just a drink. Girls, in his opinion, simply shouldn't just refuse him. Persistence, then, was the order of the day. 'Vell played. Dinner, then.'

'I really can't,' Ginny tried to explain. 'Gwenog likes for us to have our meals as a team.'

Viktor's eyes widened incredulously. If his team captain had tried to exert that much control over his players, they would revolt. 'She vill let you out for me,' Viktor told her confidently. 'I am an international Quidditch star.' Most captains would gladly allow their players to forgo a team dinner for a chance to go out with Viktor Krum. Several had in the past year, in fact.

'How nice for you,' Ginny said coldly.

'I know your hotel. I vill call for you at seven.'

Ginny felt her shoulders stiffen. _Does the brainless git not understand the word no?_ 'I'm afraid I really must decline,' she said in icy tones that wouldn't have sounded out of place coming from McGonagall's mouth.

Viktor was through with talking. He thought Ginny might need a little persuasion, so he closed the gap between them and pressed his mouth against hers. In mere seconds, he felt a stinging sensation inside his nose and sinuses and at least a dozen sticky, greyish-yellow bogeys shot from his nostrils, expanded, and began to flap about his head and face, slapping his skin, and leaving viscous trails over his face like the tracks of garden snails. Ginny sprang to her feet, her wand balanced easily in her right hand, her left rubbing firmly across her lips. 'I said "no",' she spat, Summoning her broom and stalking across the pitch.

XxXxXxX

Hermione stood in the back garden of her parents' house in Oxford, clutching a scrap of paper on which she'd written the coordinates from Remus' letter. The letter itself was tucked away in a bureau drawer, prosaically enough under a pile of old knickers. She knew she ought to move it somewhere safer – a Gringotts vault perhaps – but she'd found herself standing on the steps leading into the bank, unable to take it in. It _had_ been more than a year after their somewhat successful break-in, after all; however, goblins weren't known for being particularly forgiving creatures. Despite Bill's assurances the goblins wouldn't make the process more difficult than necessary, the idea of walking through those doors filled her with more than a little dread. She couldn't help but wonder what other creatures were miserably abused in the depths of the earth.

Hermione closed her eyes and took a deep breath. _Destination, determination, deliberation._ She willed herself to place of calm, picturing the intersection of the coordinates in a remote corner of Shropshire. The notion that Remus had entrusted her with the task of looking after those men gave her actions purpose, unhurried and meditative. As she exhaled, she began to turn, every motion nothing short of textbook perfection. The next thing she saw was a square stone building, half hidden in a small copse of trees. It looked like every child's drawing of a house: a near perfect rectangle, chimneys on either end, windows on either side of the front door, and spaced evenly over the upper floors. The edges of the farmhouse blurred slightly and for a moment, and façade shimmered and changed to something much more dilapidated. 'Clever,' she murmured. In all likelihood, it had been set with Muggle-Repelling charms. It might have also been Unplottable, among other protections. Hermione strode to the front door, carefully slipping the coordinates securely into her pocket. When no one answered her admittedly timid knock, she crept around the house, seeking another entrance. Gingerly circling the house, Hermione found a door propped open at the rear of the house leading to its kitchen. A small group of men sat clustered around the sturdy, rectangular table, seated in an array of mismatched chairs. It was all very cozy.

One of the men shoved his chair back and stood when he spied Hermione peeping through the doorway. 'Who are you?' he said rudely, a wand appearing from thin air in his hand, trained at her forehead.

Startled, Hermione snapped irritably in reply, 'Hermione Granger. Who are you?'

Matthew's wand didn't waver from its position. 'Tell me how you found this place,' he demanded. He glanced at Maurice. 'It's supposed to be a secret!' he hissed.

Hermione, still incensed at Matthew's interrogation, edged into the kitchen. 'Remus Lupin told me.'

Maurice raised an eyebrow, and Summoned another mug to the table. He reached for the large teapot in the middle and poured tea into the mug. 'Sit yourself down,' he told her, offering the mug. 'Now then. How is it you came to know our location? Considering Remus has been dead for quite some time.'

'And why did it take you so bloody long?' Matthew muttered.

Hermione perched on the edge of a vacant chair and grasped the handle of the mug in one hand, pulling it toward her. The milk jug and sugar bowl slid across the table, coming to a stop in front of her. 'I only recently learned of your location,' she said, adding milk and sugar to her tea. 'Kingsley – the Minister – was left in possession of letter from Remus that was to be sent to me in the event of joining the Ministry or finishing school, whichever came first. Needless to say,' she added with a wry twist of her mouth, 'I elected to finish school.' She gave Matthew a pointed look and said mulishly thinking of all those days with inadequate food while they hunted Horcruxes, 'You don't appear to have been starving in the interim.' Matthew's head reared back slightly at the counter attack. Hermione turned to Phillip and Maurice. 'How have you been getting food?' she inquired curiously.

'House elves,' Phillip volunteered.

'I beg your pardon?' Hermione said icily.

'The Hogwarts elves,' Phillip explained. 'Remus set something up with Dumbledore before he died and they've been delivering baskets with food ever since.' He glanced at the most recent basket that had arrived that morning, still sitting on the counter. 'Although, I rather fancy they started doing it of their own accord since Snape's unfortunate tenure. Or at least Evie did.' He peered at Hermione's white face. 'Are you feeling unwell?'

'You've been fed by slave labor for years, and it doesn't bother you?' Hermione whispered.

'S.P.E.W.' Maurice chuckled, realization dawning on him. 'You must be the student Remus mentioned a few times.'

'R-remus talked about me?' Hermione asked with faint pleasure. 'And S.P.E.W?'

'Not by name, of course,' Maurice said. 'For your protection. But a week or so before that last battle, he dropped by for a few minutes to make certain we were sorted and assure us if he didn't make it that we weren't to worry. And to be on the lookout for a girl with a healthy respect for the rights of others, especially house elves.'

'What did you think of Remus?' Maurice inquired.

Hermione's eyes stung and she looked down into her tea. 'Remus was one of the finest men I knew.'

Matthew could no longer contain himself. 'Oh, for Merlin's sake,' he grumbled. 'The fool nearly cocked up his marriage and his own life. Running out on his wife like that.'

Hermione's mug slammed to the table with such force, tea slopped over the edge. She had often read of rage that would make the blood pound in one's ears, but she'd rarely experienced it – most often during school and Ron had been behaving like an idiot. Her scalp prickled and she glared at Matthew, unaware she had risen to her feet. 'Remus Lupin was human,' she said quietly. 'He had faults, just like everyone else. He was wise enough, however to learn from his mistakes and rectify them, if he could. You might try to emulate him.'

Matthew's eyes rounded at the sight of the petite witch glowering at him, her curly hair standing on end. He supposed he could only be grateful she didn't have her wand. She might have hexed him in an instant. 'Enough, Matthew,' Phillip murmured. 'She's not the one you want to bait, eh?' Phillip mopped up the spilled tea and refreshed Hermione's mug. 'So, Miss Granger, is there anything else you'd like to know?'

Hermione drew in a deep breath and looked around the somewhat bare kitchen. 'Is there anything you need?'

'The house is in decent shape,' Maurice sighed. 'The three of us have managed to gain a little skill in refurbishment. It's not going to collapse around our ears any time soon.'

'Clothes,' Matthew said suddenly.

'Clothes?' Hermione repeated blankly.

'Clothes,' Matthew affirmed. 'I don't know about those two, but I can't mend my pants anymore. The patches have patches. Just a few changes, you see…'

'Hm. He's got that right,' Maurice grunted. 'A few jumpers, shirts, and trousers apiece, wouldn't come amiss.'

'How…?' Hermione began weakly. 'I supposed I could inquire about funding…'

Maurice waved aside her concerns impatiently. 'We have gold. At Gringotts. But we're hesitant to go into Diagon Alley. But I can give you permission to go into my vault, get what gold you need and you can bring the clothing back here. I'll get you a list before you go.'

'Books,' Phillip piped up. 'Remus left a few here and they're worn to tatters,' he said shyly.

'I think I know where to go for that,' Hermione said slowly. She knew Remus had an extensive collection of books, but didn't know where they'd been stored. 'It'll take a few weeks to track them down. I can't promise anything just now.' Phillip nodded and idly stirred his tea. 'What do you want?' Hermione asked. 'I mean, for yourselves in wizarding society?'

The question seemed to catch the men off-guard. 'We don't belong in wizarding society,' Matthew said bitterly after several long moments. 'We're not considered wizards anymore, are we?'

'You certainly are wizards!' Hermione said sharply. 'You're just…' She searched her memory for the appropriate phrase. 'Wizards with a furry little problem!'

Maurice stared at her, then began to roar with laughter. 'A furry little problem… That's one way to look at it…' He drew a threadbare handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his eyes. 'Oh, that's the funnies thing I've heard in ages… Furry little problem…'

'It's how one of Remus' friends described it,' Hermione huffed, a little more defensively than necessary.

'Don't be so missish,' Maurice retorted. 'It is amusing.' He sat back in his chair. 'So then, Miss Hermione Granger. How are you going to restore me to my previous life of being a Healer? Or any of us to a fraction of what we did before?'

Hermione met Maurice's gaze squarely. 'I don't know,' she admitted. 'It will be horribly difficult and might not happen for years. Decades, perhaps. But I will promise you this: I won't stop until it's illegal to hunt you and we make accommodations for your condition so you can fully participate in the wizarding world. It's not as if you asked for this.' Her shoulders slumped slightly. 'Fenrir Greyback did you no favors with his own behavior…'

'At least you're going to try,' Phillip said consolingly. 'That's the most anyone's done since that

bastard bit me.'

XxXxXxX

Percy poured bran flakes into a bowl, and then added precisely just enough milk to peep through the flakes. Too little milk, it was like chewing cardboard; too much milk it turned to mush. Penelope wrinkled her nose and sipped her tea, buttering her toast. He thoughtfully stirred the milk through his cereal staring at the calendar pinned to the wall next to their small dining table. 'What are you doing tomorrow?' he asked idly.

Penelope grinned. 'As if you don't know. The same thing you are. Working.'

Percy chewed a few bites of cereal. 'How much sick leave do you have?'

Penny's eyes crossed as she mentally calculated the dates. 'Oh, around a week.'

Percy nodded in satisfaction. 'Perfect. That ought to be enough time.'

'Enough time for…?' Penny made a motion for Percy to elaborate.

'What do you say we get married tomorrow?'

Penny spewed tea all over Percy's face. 'Wh-what did you say?'

Percy removed his glasses and painstakingly cleaned them with his serviette. 'Why don't we get married tomorrow? Just the two of us.'

Penny scrutinized Percy closely. 'You don't want your family there?'

Percy's spoon clattered against the side of his bowl. He carefully set it aside and adjusted his glasses. 'I do. But…'

'But…?'

Percy glanced down at the table. He did want to be surrounded by his family, but he had heard stories about Bill's wedding and all the fuss that had come with it. As much as he enjoyed prestige, Percy did not enjoy being the center of everyone's attention. Besides, traditional weddings offended his sense of efficiency. There were all the guests one felt compelled to invite, lest someone become offended at their lack of an invitation. The food that no one would eat, the drinks that no one would consume. The unnecessary extravagance. The mess. 'I want my family. Just not everyone else they would insist must be invited.' Percy's brows drew together in a frown. 'Why we must behave like everyone else?'

'Percy…' Penny interjected gently. 'There's nothing that says we have to have a big, traditional wedding. I'd rather avoid all the fuss myself. It doesn't seem very practical, and I don't care about the wedding so much as I care about the marriage. I merely want to make sure that you will have no regrets if your mum and dad weren't there.' She grinned slyly. 'It would rather make a delicious prank, wouldn't it? To just stroll into lunch with your family next Sunday as if nothing's changed.'

Percy's expression brightened considerably. 'Then it's settled,' he pronounced. 'I'll take care of the paperwork today.'

Efficient as always, Percy procured the appropriate licenses, signatures, and retrieved the gold band he'd bought with Penny's engagement ring from his vault in Gringotts in record time.

The next day found Percy standing next to Penny in a drab Ministry office, beaming with pride. Penny wore a simple white dress, and he wore a slightly less formal set of dress robes. They walked into the office hand-in-hand, fingers wound tightly together. Neither seemed willing to release the other's hand. Percy repeated his vows, squeezing Penny's fingers for emphasis. At one point, his voice cracked and Percy averted his eyes, blinking furiously, lest he begin to cry. Penny's vows were recited in a clear, firm, albeit soft voice that caught a few times, and a couple of tears slipped from the corner of her eyes, and tracked down her cheeks. They caught the light streaming through the window, and Percy reached up with his free hand to brush them away. He slid the ring over her finger, marveling at how tiny her hand was in his, nestling the band next to the engagement ring. Penny cradled his hand in hers, and eased Percy's wedding ring over his finger settling it into place. The Ministry witch smiled indulgently as she said, 'I now pronounce you husband and wife.'

Percy impulsively drew Penny toward him and soundly kissed her, hands cupping her face. They broke into shy smiles and Percy crowed softly, 'We're married.'

'Mr. Weasley?' the witch coughed softly, holding out a quill. 'If you could just sign here…' She pushed a registry book across the desk. Percy took the quill and signed his name with a flourish, then handed the quill to Penny, who added her signature underneath his.

Percy reached into a pocket and withdrew a small moneybag that he pressed into the witch's hand. 'Thank you,' he told her in a heartfelt voice.

'It was my pleasure,' the witch replied.

Penny tucked her hand into the crook of Percy's elbow. 'Shall we, Mr. Weasely?' she murmured, with a tilt of her head to the door.

'I do believe we shall, Mrs. Weasley,' Percy said solemnly, making Penny giggle. As they made their way to Atrium, he turned to her and asked, 'How should we tell my family?'

Penny held out her left hand, admiring the sparkle of her rings. 'I say we let them figure it out. It shouldn't be too difficult if they're paying any sort of attention.'

XxXxXxX

The following Sunday was bright and clear. Percy and Penny were deliberately late to lunch, walking unhurriedly into the kitchen and taking their places at the table without comment. True to their word, they said nothing about the wedding, and didn't point out the new additions to their ring fingers, calmly passing platters of ham and chicken and bowls of vegetables and potatoes. It was only when Molly began to dish up pudding did someone notice Percy's left hand. 'Percy,' George began, ' what's that on your hand. It looks like you've got a blot of ink on it.'

Ron squinted down the table and scoffed, 'What sort of git uses _gold_ ink, George? Even Percy's not that big of a naff to use gold ink.'

'Thank you, Ron,' Percy said sarcastically.

'That's not ink,' Charlie supplied helpfully, around a bite of sticky toffee pudding.

'Can't be ink,' Arthur stated. 'Percy's not been at work most of last week.'

Molly's head swiveled around. 'Have you been ill? And you didn't send an owl?' she scolded.

Percy sighed and deliberately picked up his water glass with his left hand and slowly drained it. 'No, Mum,' he said patiently. 'I've been quite all right. Just took a few personal days.'

Bill choked on his pudding. 'You took personal days?' he coughed.

Percy held up the four fingers of his left hand. 'Just four.'

Molly's hand darted across the table and grasped Percy's hand. She studied it for a long moment before glancing at Penny and holding out her hand, releasing Percy. 'May I see your hand please? The _left_ one.' Molly held up Penny's hand, noting the two rings. 'Is there something either of you would like to tell us?'

Percy and Penny's eyes met, and blinding smiles spread over their faces. 'We're married,' Percy said, not looking at anyone else but Penny.

It was the last coherent thing anyone said at lunch that day.

XxXxXxX

A/N: I wanted to take some time here and let you know just how much Harry Potter and writing here has meant to me. I've met some lovely people who have become friends. One of which introduced me to a friend and co-worker of hers on something of a whim. That whim grew into something more and last month, we were married. I never would have met my husband if I hadn't taken a deep breath and posted my first HP fanfic here in December of 2007.


	12. Pieces of History

Ginny balanced a plate of fruit and toast on top of a bowl of porridge and carried it back to the table. She reached for one of the teapots set along the length of the table and poured herself a much-needed cup of tea. She spooned sugar into the porridge and gratefully sipped her tea while she waited for it to melt. Elise pushed a jug of orange juice toward Ginny and she poured some into a glass, then passed it to Helen. It astonished Ginny no small amount how easily she could insert herself into the daily choreography of the team. Owls swooped in through the open windows, delivering letters to the team members. Up to this point, Ginny had only received a couple of letters from Molly, but a veritable shower of letters littered her plate. Marion studied the pile of paper with a raised brow. 'That happen often?'

Ginny stared at the pile of letters in bewilderment. 'No. I don't know why…' Her voice trailed off as she sorted through the envelopes. 'Oh no…' she breathed. There was not only a letter from Molly, but one from Bill and Fleur, Charlie, George, Ron, and Harry.

'I do hope everything is all right,' Anna murmured.

'So do I,' replied Ginny vaguely, as she tore open the first letter. It was a short note containing a single sentence that said, _Percy married Penny last week. _followed by the single letter 'C'. 'Bloody hell!' Ginny exclaimed. 'My brother got married!'

'Which one?' Elsie asked. 'The good-looking one?'

Anna rolled her eyes over the rim of her teacup. 'That one's already married, you silly cow,' she scoffed. 'Bill got married, when? Two years ago wasn't it?'

Ginny nodded absently; tearing open the next letter in the stack bearing Fleur's lyrically formed script.

Elsie scowled briefly. 'I wasn't talking about Bill,' she muttered.

Ginny quickly scanned the brief letter, noting that Fleur seemed amused by Percy's actions. _I did not expect Percy to do something so out of character. He has always seemed to adhere to the rules and insist on doing everything as correctly as possible. At first I did think it might have been a prank on a level with what George and Fred would have done. However, it is not, and Percy and Penelope are married. If you think about it for a few moments, it does quite make sense for Percy to marry in this manner. It was efficient and carried out with a minimum of fuss._ She dimly heard someone ask her a question and looked up. 'What?' she asked blankly.

'Is it Charlie? I hope it isn't Charlie,' Elsie sighed wistfully. 'I'd not kick him out of bed for eating biscuits,' she added with a slight leer.

Ginny stuffed Fleur's letter back into its envelope and suppressed a shudder at the idea of Charlie inciting lust in someone. It wasn't that she didn't think Charlie was unpleasant to look at, but he was her brother. The idea of any of her brothers making someone else weak in the knees made her a bit nauseous. 'No. It's my middle brother, Percy.'

Matilda spewed orange juice across the table. Fortunately, the seat opposite her was vacant. She blotted her face her serviette and gaped at Ginny. 'Percy?' she gasped incredulously. 'As in Rules-Are-Made-To-Be-Followed-Percy? Percy Weasley got married?'

'Erm…' Ginny didn't quite know what to say. She settled for a simple affirmation. 'Yes.'

Mandy stirred her porridge thoughtfully. 'I didn't Percy was particularly interested in women or men,' she mused. 'To be honest, I didn't think he was interested in anything other than his work.'

Ginny nodded to herself. She hadn't had much occasion to observe Percy with Penelope, but from what she had heard from Harry, Ron, and Hermione; Penny had accompanied Percy to quite a few Weasley Sunday lunches.

Elsie buttered her toast carefully and slowly spread strawberry preserves over it. 'So… Ginny… Is Charlie seeing anyone?'

Anna aimed a light smack at the back of Elsie's head, sending her ponytail swinging. 'Give it a rest, yeah? You're going to make me be sick all over your plate.'

Elsie stuck her tongue out at Anna. 'So? Ginny? Charlie seeing anyone?' she persisted.

Ginny sighed and finally took a bite of her porridge. 'He was when I stayed with him during the trials,' she allowed. 'A Healer on the reservation in Holyhead.' She didn't think Charlie would mind if she divulged that much information. Anything to make Elsie stop talking about Charlie like he was a piece of prime roast beef, and she was starving. Ginny opened the next letter – from George this time – amid reflections that she wasn't bothered much by Elsie fancying Charlie, but found the idea of any of brothers engaging in any sort of sexual activity more than a little uncomfortable, probably no more than they would have found it for her. All in all, in Ginny's opinion, it was an idea best left to the abstract.

XxXxXxX

Charlie woke in his darkened bedroom and flailed in the tangled bedclothes until he could raise his head enough to peer hazily at the alarm clock on his bedside table. He stared at the heavy curtains that blocked any sliver of daylight from leaking through the window, wondering just what time it was. It could be six in the morning or six in the evening for all he knew. He rolled his head on his neck, producing several satisfying crunching sounds. He used his wand to nudge the edge of the curtain. Pale, silvery light flowed through the glass and he sighed heavily. Charlie was working the middle shift and didn't _need_ to wake up for a couple more hours, but last week's morning shift schedule was still in his limbs. He groaned and flipped the quilt back, then swung his feet to the floor. Charlie stood and stretched elaborately, and in what he ruefully noted had become a habit of late, scratched himself thoroughly through the fabric of his boxer shorts as he padded to the door of the bedroom. He used his free hand to open the door and went into the bath. As always, he woke with an urgent need for the loo. He didn't understand how people could wake up every few hours to use the toilet. One could lose precious moments of sleep that way. He yawned as he washed his hands and headed for the kitchen. In short order he had fixed a plate of toast, as well as a large pot of tea and paid the owl that brought his morning paper. He set the tea, toast, and newspaper on the small table and settled in to scan the happenings of the wizarding world. Molly, he knew, would be absolutely aghast at his lack of attire while he ate his breakfast, but it wasn't as if there was anyone else to see him. Besides, he was a grown man, and if he wanted to have a meal in the privacy of his home wearing nothing but a smile, then he would.

Charlie opened the paper to the Quidditch page and scanned the headlines, searching for any information about the Harpies. He wondered how the team fared in its summer training, especially Ginny. He remembered how difficult his first few months in Romania had been when he first left home. He and Bill had exchanged several wistful letters about being away from what was known. Certainly, going to Hogwarts at the age of eleven had taught them all to be quite independent of their parents and responsible for their own lives, but at least at Hogwarts, they were surrounded by friends and family and the castle itself was somewhat familiar from stories various relatives had told them. Miercurea-Ciuc could be absolutely frigid in the winter and rainy in the summer and filled with an unfamiliar language. Charlie didn't have Bill's ear for languages, so he struggled in those first few months to learn enough Romanian to get by. He'd made stacks of small cards with drawings of objects with the name written neatly in Romanian underneath, as well as a phonetic spelling. He'd even labeled all the items in his Spartan cabin, down to pinning a scrap of parchment to clothing items. Ginny, of course, wouldn't face the same challenges as he had, Charlie reckoned, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. She would, however, endure a misery of a different sort – living life in the public eye. As a rule, the Weasleys were a private lot, save for the odd moment by Percy. How would she handle having her personal life dissected under the byline of the _Prophet_'s gossip columnist? Quidditch writers analyzing her every move, detailing how she could have played better, even if she played brilliantly. Would Ginny be able to brush it off as nothing more than guff, or would she take it all to heart? Charlie hoped it would be the former.

A small paragraph jumped out at Charlie, hidden under a larger story about the progress of Montrose's new Keeper. A small tidbit, really, of a friendly match between the Harpies and the Bulgarian national team. A smile began to spread over Charlie's face when a series of insistence knocks that grew louder with each blow to the door intruded into his thoughts. He glanced down at his attire – or rather lack of attire – and sighed. He glared at the door for a moment before he set the paper down and yelled, 'Keep your hair on!' He trudged to the bedroom and snatched up his abandoned jeans and pulled them on, hopping on one foot as he drew them up. He left them unfastened and strode the last few feet to answer the door. 'What?' he barked.

Bronwyn stood open-mouthed on the porch, bundled into a bulky cardigan against the morning chill. 'Did I wake you?' Charlie shook his head and leaned against the doorframe, the picture of patience, waiting for Bronwyn to continue. She shoved her hands deeper into the cardigan, shaking her head to toss an errant lock of hair from her eyes. 'I just wanted to tell you, I've been thinking…' Charlie raised a thick brow by way of a question. Bronwyn swallowed thickly and continued. 'I never once questioned your integrity or experience. Healers never look a patient and see a no-win situation, or that their time has come to an end. We're taught to fight until the bitter end, to exhaust all our resources, even if it's obvious we should stop and let nature have its way. It was a knee-jerk response and I never bothered to inquire about the health of the dragon in question.'

Charlie pushed himself away from the doorframe and motioned with his chin. 'Fancy a cuppa?'

'I beg your pardon?'

'D'you want a cup of tea or not?' he repeated. 'Thought it might help get the taste of admitting you were wrong out of your mouth.' His mouth turned up slightly at the corner. 'And I accept your apology. Was rather gracious of you.'

Bronwyn's mouth opened and closed repeatedly and Charlie suppressed a chuckle at the very good impression she was doing of a fish. She caught the glint of humor in his eyes and her mouth snapped shut with a painful _clack_ of her teeth. 'A cup of tea would be lovely, thank you,' she replied stiffly, sweeping regally into the cabin, as if she were none other than the Queen herself. 'Better write this in your calendar,' Bronwyn advised, settling at the small table. 'I'm not wrong very often.'

'Is that a challenge?' Charlie scoffed, fetching a clean mug from the cupboard. Bronwyn smiled blandly in return. Charlie filled the mug and pushed it across the table. 'Challenge accepted.'

Bronwyn stirred sugar into her tea and took a cautious sip. Charlie's tea was generally strong enough to remove wallpaper. 'So truthfully? How was the dragon?'

'Blind, malnourished, weak, with signs of abuse,' Charlie said succinctly. 'Beyond rehabilitation. Even if we'd been able to hand-feed the poor bugger, the slightest noise startled him. Was used to guard the vaults in Gringotts and forgot what it felt like to be outside. Better off now.' He studied the surface of his tea. 'Not like we have the dragon equivalent of St. Mungo's spell damage floor, anyhow.' He pressed his lips together and raised the mug to his mouth. 'Damn shame.' He took a soothing sip of tea and shook himself a little.

Bronwyn's hand slipped across the table and her fingers lightly gripped the edge of a piece of toast. She began to nibble at the corner. 'So… erm… You weren't the only one to whom I handed my lofty opinions,' she confessed. 'I told Da exactly what I thought about how he handled the dragon situation.'

Charlie allowed himself to chortle a little. Daffyd was rather quiet most of the time, but he wasn't the sort of man who let others interfere with how he ran the reservation. 'I see.'

'Gave me an earful, Da did. He said in no uncertain terms I'm to mind my own patients and let him see to his, and if he wants my opinion of dragon care, then he'll ask for it.'

Charlie nodded approvingly. He didn't mind asking for other people's opinions as a rule, and from time to time found someone with little experience with dragons to have a somewhat unorthodox, yet wholly viable method. It helped to seek assistance from someone outside the situation. They tended to look at things with different eyes that were unburdened by the how things were usually done. He drained his mug of tea, and poured another. He sat back, reveling in Bronwyn's company. She seemed to understand he didn't need constant chatter, and even appeared to enjoy the companionable silence that grew between them from time to time. Bronwyn spent a few nights a week in his cabin, and they had been eating dinner together nearly every evening Charlie didn't work the evening shift. They had fallen into an easy routine, wordlessly dividing the few chores in the cabin. If one cooked a meal, the other did the washing up afterward. It was possibly the easiest personal relationship Charlie had ever had with another human being. He inhaled slowly and deeply. He'd never in his life imagined he would ever say what he was about to ask of Bronwyn. 'So… Are you doing anything on Sunday? My family has lunch together every week, and I thought if you were interested, you could go… with… me…'

'Lunch, hmm? With your entire family?' Bronwyn asked dubiously. 'How many people will that be exactly?'

Charlie tilted his chair back on its rear legs and sipped his tea. 'Mum and Dad. Bill and Fleur. Percy and Penny. George. Ron and his girlfriend, Hermione. Harry. Me. You. Twelve. Thirteen if George's girl, Katie, comes. Fourteen if Harry has his godson, Teddy. Fifteen if Teddy's grandmother is there.'

'Fif…fifteen?' Bronwyn repeated faintly, eyes round and unblinking.

'You don't have to go,' Charlie said quickly. The sheer amount of humanity would be enough to put most people off their feed in his opinion.

Bronwyn's head reared back a little. 'I'm not scared,' she declared.

Charlie grinned. 'Didn't think you were.'

'As a matter of fact, I'm looking forward to it,' she assured him calmly, but feeling her stomach quiver at the idea of meeting nearly all of Charlie's family at once.

The legs of Charlie's chair landed on the floor with a soft _thump_. 'We'll Apparate over round eleven Sunday,' he said. 'Won't stay too late. I've got evenings next week.'

Bronwyn drained her mug, wincing at the astringent bite of the strong tea. 'I'll meet you here, then.' She rose to her feet and left the cabin, plodding toward hers. 'I hope you know what you're getting into,' she muttered.

XxXxXxX

Breakfast for Harry was generally a hurried affair. It wasn't due to a lack of time or planning on his part. He generally woke up early, met the other Aurors for their daily run in Hyde Park, returned home for a wash, dressed, then ate breakfast. It wasn't that he didn't like to linger over his meals. He didn't have to quickly gulp his meals, like he did at the Dursleys, or like he sometimes had to do at school to balance his schoolwork, Quidditch, or his other "extra-curricular" activities. Mostly, he ate quickly because he didn't really like eating solitary meals. He scanned the morning's _Daily Prophet_ while he shoveled cereal or porridge in his mouth, but didn't really bother to read anything in-depth. Reading the paper kept his meals from becoming an exercise in barbarism. If he hadn't had the paper to occupy him, he'd have eaten his breakfast standing up over the sink. So it wasn't entirely surprising that he had missed the story buried in the middle of the paper that Gringotts had sent letters out, notifying each witch or wizard with a vault to please come do an inventory of said vault at the assigned time, please and thank you. Harry had also, in fact, received the letter in question. He just never opened it, but merely tossed it into the basket next to the window where he filed non-urgent correspondence, then forgot about it in the flurry of Ginny coming home from school, her trial, then departure for Sweden for a month.

Harry's rushed breakfasts also meant he usually arrived at the office much earlier than most of the Aurors. He enjoyed the quiet moments in the office before it became engulfed with a buzz of conversation, parchment shuffling, and people scurrying to and fro outside his cubicle. Lately, he'd taken to sneaking in a few stolen minutes of Legilimency practice with whomever he could corral into helping him. His first sessions with the former Death Eaters were quickly approaching, and he wanted to be more than prepared. He wanted it to be instinct. Hermione would be proud, Harry knew, of all the time he'd spent revising and practicing for the two days it would take to handle everyone on his list.

This particular morning, Harry was greeted by a veritable phalanx of small, purple paper aeroplanes hovering over his desk. Sighing, he plucked the closest one out of the air and scanned it, dropping into his chair. It contained the finalized schedule of his Death Eater interviews. They were to be done at Azkaban. With one exception – Draco Malfoy. Harry hadn't realized that under the terms of Draco's probation, he would have to go to Malfoy Manor, rather than Draco coming to the Ministry. Apparently, when the Wizengamot said "confined to the home", it would have to be a matter of life or death in order to allow Draco to leave the mansion. _Later_, he thought to himself. It wouldn't do to worry about it now. There wasn't anybody currently in the Ministry to deal with it anyway.

Harry set the notice aside and reached up for the next aeroplane. They had helpfully lowered themselves to within his grasp. A scroll bearing a deeply red wax seal, stamped with an elaborate G fell from the folds of the purple aeroplane and landed on his desk. Warily, Harry plucked it from the desk, wondering if his actions of last year when he broke into the Lestrange vault had finally come round to bite him in the proverbial arse. He gingerly broke the seal and the scroll unrolled silently, revealing a short note from none other than Bill Weasley.

_Harry… You missed your appointment to inventory the contents of your vault. I can squeeze you in today around one in the afternoon. The goblins were quite put out that you didn't show up at your scheduled time. If you would permit me to give you a bit of advice, don't miss today. They could make it difficult for you, bureaucratically speaking, the next time you visit your vault. I hate to sound like Percy, but it's really important that you come and do this. Due to the chaos in the first few weeks after the war ended, and a certain break-in was made common knowledge (not the participants, just the actual break-in itself), witches and wizards all over Britain and Ireland descended on the bank demanding to ensure their vaults were untouched. With so many goblins missing and presumed dead, or in fact, dead, it's taken a while to get to yours. _

_Try to take the afternoon off, if you can. Given the size of your vault, it's going to take some time to complete the inventory._

_Bill_

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose against the nascent headache and fought the urge to chuck the note in the bin. When he did have to go inside Gringotts, he attempted to complete his business as quickly as possible, kept his head down, and didn't engage anyone in meaningful conversation. He set the scroll aside next to the Death Eater schedule and reached for the next memo.

XxXxXxX

'Hi, Harry!' Hermione's slightly breathless voice startled Harry from his work. He jerked, dropping his quill to the desk, frowning at the blotched scroll.

'Warn a bloke a little,' he sighed, using his wand to siphon the ink from the scroll. He pushed the scroll aside, grateful for the break. He motioned for Hermione to take the empty chair next to his desk. 'What brings you to this rarefied locale?' he asked drolly.

Hermione perched on the edge of the chair and wound her fingers together. 'I wanted to ask you something,' she began tremulously. Harry remained silent, but lifted an eyebrow, waiting for her to continue. 'Well, you see… I need Remus' book collection.'

'Why?'

Hermione's fingers twisted together a little more. 'I'm not quite certain how to say this,' she muttered under her breath. 'It's just that Remus left a letter with Kingsley to be delivered to me when I finished school.' She smoothed her skirt over her knees. 'He had a small group of… friends…'

'Friends?' Harry repeated blankly. He was unaware of any friends Remus might have had outside the Order. 'Who…?'

Hermione bit her lip anxiously. 'Werewolves,' she said softly. 'Three of them. They live in a farmhouse, but I can't tell you where. Not yet. Fenrir Greyback bit them during our fifth year, and they were all sacked from their jobs, of course. He… He asked me to look after them. To attempt to change the laws that keep them segregated from the wizarding community.' Her voice rose slightly as she warmed up to her topic. 'But in the meantime, they require more intellectual stimulation. Remus had an extensive book collection. I'm sure he wouldn't mind if his friends had them.'

'So why do you need me?' Harry inquired.

'I don't know where his books have been stored and I thought you might,' Hermione confessed in a rush.

Harry sat back in his chair, twirling the quill between his fingers, ignoring the ink that smeared over his fingers. 'You'll have to approach Andromeda.'

Hermione stilled warily, rather like a cat hearing a threatening noise. Her fists clenched on her knees and she drew slow, careful breaths, trying to fight down the roaring of blood in her ears. She blinked rapidly as her eyes darted around the small cubicle while her mouth worked for a moment before she croaked, 'Bellatrix.'

'Oh…' Harry reached over and reassuringly squeezed her hand. He knew what she meant. Andromeda bore a disquieting resemblance to her elder sister. But only at first glance. Andromeda, like several of her Black relations – Bellatrix and Sirius came to mind – had large, dark, heavy-lidded eyes. It had taken months before Harry stopped flinching if he caught a fleeting glance of Andromeda from the corner of his eye. The likeness ended there. Andromeda had slightly wavy, light brown hair, not Bellatrix's wild black curls. While her expression could border on cold and aloof at times, Harry wondered if her mask was a remnant of her childhood where the slightest reaction could earn heaps of abuse. And once Andromeda warmed to a person, she rarely displayed such standoffishness. Hermione's right hand stole to her left forearm, where Harry knew the word "Mudblood" had been etched into her skin, courtesy of Bellatrix. 'Do you want me to go with you?'

Hermione's mouth opened, and she shook her head slightly. 'No. I… I want you to ask her _for_ me.' Her interactions with Andromeda had been limited to the occasional Sunday Weasley lunch. She hadn't quite had the opportunity to become desensitized to Andromeda's appearance as Harry and Ron had.

Harry's mouth twisted. He wouldn't let her go alone, but he wasn't going to let her off the hook. If she wanted the books, she was going to have to ask for them herself. 'I'll go with you to Andromeda's house. It's up to you to get those books to Remus' friends.'

Hermione's face fell. 'Harry!' she protested.

'Nobody's asking you to go to Malfoy Manor,' Harry reminded her sharply. 'Just Andromeda's house.' He pulled his glasses off and dropped them on the desk. 'Listen,' he began, 'I'm going to pick Teddy up Saturday. You can come with me and talk to Andromeda then.' He massaged the bridge of his nose then slid the glasses back over it. 'She doesn't bite,' he said softly. 'And Remus would want his books to be put to a good use.'

Hermione's shoulders slumped a little. 'What time are you going to pick up Teddy?' she asked, only a little defeated.

'Probably around three. He's usually awake from his nap by then.'

'Thanks…' Hermione rose to her feet and edged around the chair, heading for the cubicle's door. She stopped and studied Harry for a few minutes before saying, 'It's ridiculous, I know, to be so terrified of the memory of someone who's been dead for over a year.'

'It's not,' Harry assured her. He knew exactly what she meant. 'What would be silly is to let the fear prevent you from doing something you love, like helping Remus' friends. Or letting it overtake your life. We've got the rest of our lives ahead of us, and if we give up because every time we walk through certain doors, it brings up certain memories, then we've let them win in the end.' He grinned a bit. 'And I'll be damned if I let _them_ win after everything we went through to beat them.'

Hermione smiled wanly, but Harry could see her shoulders lift and straighten as she left the cubicle.

XxXxXxX

Harry stood on the pavement in front of Gringotts at the bottom of the steps with his hands shoved deeply into his pockets. His cheeks puffed out as he exhaled explosively, waiting until absolutely the last possible minute to enter the building. His gaze drifted down to the watch strapped to his wrist, noting the time. One more minute. Harry's fingers traced around the bezel, seeking the small dent above the eleven. He gently tapped his middle finger into the slight depression, watching the second hand sweep around the face. As a distant bell tolled once, his shoulders squared automatically with the habit of one used to doing something distasteful, and Harry began to climb the gleaming white marble stairs. He paused at the great bronze doors, nodding at the scarlet-clad goblin standing guard, feeling the now-familiar fleeting lurch in his stomach as the goblin waved him through, slightly worried that wizards from the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol would be waiting just inside the doors to arrest him. In his more feverish imaginative moments, he pictured Hit Wizards waiting outside his vault, ready to Stun him into submission for breaking into Bellatrix Lestrange's vault. Harry pushed the heavy door open just wide enough to slip inside. The cool entry was a welcome respite from the summer's warmth, and Harry waited for his vision to adjust to the dimmer light inside after the bright sunshine. He blinked a few times, and the sight of Bill standing at the near end of one of the long counters swam into view. Harry lifted a hand in greeting and Bill waved him over. 'Glad you showed up,' Bill muttered. 'I was on the verge of asking Kingsley to make some sort of excuse to Bladrot for you.' Bill's eyes flicked toward the end of the main hall where an elderly, but still fierce-looking goblin presided over the hall.

'Thanks,' Harry murmured. 'Let's get this over with, all right?' Unsettled feelings about just being in Gringotts aside, he hated repetitive tasks like the one looming ahead.

Bill motioned to the long corridor with its many doors that led down to the vaults. 'After you.' Harry strode down the corridor and came to a stop at the door that would lead to his vault. A young goblin waited at one of the carts and Harry climbed into it followed by Bill. 'Are you in?' Bill asked Harry. Harry gave a tense nod and Bill turned to the goblin. 'Let's go.' The goblin flipped a switch and the cart hurtled down the track. Harry felt the sting of the suddenly cooler air bring tears to his eyes as they rushed deeper into the earth. After many stomach-churning turns and corkscrews, the cart came to an abrupt stop in front of Vault 687 – Harry's vault. 'Got your key?' Bill asked.

Harry nodded and produced the small gold key that opened the vault and slid it into the lock. The door swung open, revealing the usual pile of Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts. Harry walked inside, and Bill handed him a sheaf of parchment with a Self-Inking Quill. 'Do you really expect me to count each and every coin?'

Bill shook his head. 'There's a spell that will sort them into piles of ten. Then you just count those.' He gave Harry a strange look then continued, 'Have you ever really been inside your vault before?'

'Not really. Just long enough to take out gold for school or something.'

Bill pointed to the parchment in Harry's hand. 'Why don't you look through that? Or better yet, take a turn about the vault.'

Harry frowned and skirted the nearest pile of Galleons. His mouth dropped open when he saw, for the first time, the piles of crates and cartons hidden behind the money. 'What the bloody hell is all this?' he breathed, eyes going round with astonishment.

Bill appeared next to Harry. 'Everything in the Potter family vault that was in it when your parents died, and when Sirius died, you got everything from _his_ vault, too.' He tapped the inventory list in Harry's lax hand. 'Check the list.'

Harry blinked and gaped at the forgotten list in his hand, and began paging through the bewildering. More money than he would ever be able to spend in one, if not two, lifetimes. Jewels. Portraits and other paintings. Collections of antique robes and books. Sets of china. Multiple sets of cutlery made of pewter and sterling silver. There was even a set of goblin-wrought silver cutlery. Harry's eyebrows rose a little as his eyes landed on that particular item. 'This is absolutely nutters,' he mumbled. 'What am I supposed to _do_ with all this?' His voice took on a slightly panicked timbre.

'For starters, you won't have to worry about paying for your children's things when they start school,' Bill said acerbically. 'You could buy a bloody castle, if you wanted. Perhaps a Quidditch team.'

Harry spun in a slow circle, eyeing a glittering pile of gold. 'Teddy,' he blurted.

'What about Teddy?'

'I want to set something up for Teddy,' Harry explained. 'I don't want Andromeda to have to worry about buying Teddy's things for school. And to give him something of cushion to have when he finishes school so he doesn't have to live with his grandmother or me, if he doesn't want to…'

Bill made a note in a small notebook he carried. 'I can set that up for you by the end of the week,' he said quietly, impressed at how Harry's first thought was of his godson's welfare.

'Thanks,' Harry replied, a little absently, as he further perused the list. 'Guess I'll start with that crate, then,' he said, as he pointed to a large wooden crate in the back left corner of the vault. 'And then go clockwise.' He squinted at the corner of the crate in question. 'Are they all numbered?'

'They were numbered and catalogued when they were brought in,' Bill told him. 'If anything was removed, it was noted at the time of withdrawal.'

'Okay.' Harry pointed his wand at the crate and murmured, '_Cistem aperio._' The lid of the crate slowly lifted and swung open. Inside, several ornately carved wooden boxes were stacked on top of one another. With a deep sigh, Harry retrieved the boxes, relieved to see they, too, were numbered as well. He checked the list and began with the box listed first. It wasn't a difficult task, and there was just enough variety in the contents to keep it from being completely mind-numbingly boring. Sorting through the items gave Harry tantalizing glimpses into his family's history. From time to time, one or another of his ancestors had left a note containing information regarding the history of a piece in the box – to whom it had belonged, when and how they received it, and one enterprising soul had even included a bit of a comical story written in a cramped hand regarding a particularly hideous opal necklace, making Harry laugh out loud.

The most recent box had been packed shortly before Harry's birth, according to the dates written on the label. He frowned at it, fingertips tracing over the letters that seemed familiar in their shape. _Where have I seen this before?_ he mused, thinking he had, in fact, viewed that peculiar manner of crossing both "T"s in "Potter" with a heavy, downward slash that nearly bisected the "E". His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth as the memory popped into his brain with the jarring sensation of having a joint maneuvered back into place. Harry realized where he had seen it: in one of Snape's memoires in Dumbledore's – now Harry's – Pensieve. He remembered vividly the day he had viewed the memory of his father completing his Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L. 'Dad…' Harry whispered reverently. With hands that shook only a little, Harry eased the lid of box open. There wasn't much inside. Just some unassuming pieces of jewelry that were no less lovely for their simplicity. Most of them had small parchment tags affixed to them with a length of twine. Harry picked up a fine gold chain with a pendant in the shape of a crescent moon, a small star-shaped diamond dangling from the upper tip. He held it up so the tag dangled in front of his eyes. It had once been his great-grandmother's. James' paternal grandmother. According to the note, it had been her favorite necklace, even though she had a few more elaborate ones. An array of bangles carved from jade with patterns of leaves etched into the surface, ranging from a near-white celadon to the deeper green of birch leaves in the summer. An old pocket watch, given to Harry's grandfather on day he became of age, with a small inscription on the back simply stating "Roderick Maxwell Potter, 14 November 1931". Nestled in the velvet bag with the pocket watch was a delicate wristwatch. Harry turned it over and brought the back up closer to his face so he could read the engraved words it. "Eleanor Frances Lowe, 2 January 1934". Harry felt another disconcerting mental snap, as he realized this was the first time he had ever seen his paternal grandparents' names, filling in one more piece of his missing history.

Harry set the quill down and rolled his head slowly around his neck, grinning beatifically at the rapid-fire, crunching noises that emerged. 'Can I ask you something?' he said to Bill, lounging in a chair he'd conjured.

Bill glanced up from his copy of the _Prophet_. 'Sure.'

'You said earlier that the contents of Sirius' vault had been moved into mine,' Harry began. Bill nodded and Harry continued. 'Why did the bank do that instead of just keeping it there? It doesn't make sense.'

Bill frowned at Harry for a moment, before belatedly recalling Harry had entered the wizarding world at the age of eleven with no previous knowledge of how it worked, as if he'd been Muggle-born. The last year or so, he had slipped into the fabric of the wizarding world with an ease that belied his upbringing and the occasional gaps in his knowledge. 'Only a blood member can actually inherit the actual vault. You can leave what's in it to anyone you want. Since Sirius didn't have a direct blood relation, the vault's ownership reverted to the bank.'

'Oh.' Harry sat motionless for a moment before drawing in a deep breath and letting it out slowly before reaching for the last piece of jewelry in the box. A parchment tag dangled from a small gold ring, set with a round emerald nestled between two smaller square opals. The notation on the parchment was brief, penned in his father's hand, only containing James' mother's name and a date five months before Harry's own birth. Harry flipped the tag over, searching for another clue, no matter how small, and was rewarded with an addendum in Lily's looping penmanship. "Given to Eleanor by Roderick on their engagement – 12 April 1946". Harry made a small tick next to the item on the list, and started to replace it in the box. He stopped and held it up to the light, studying it closely. It was lovely. As he tucked it into its satin-lined slot, Harry could envision it on Ginny's finger. She would even appreciate the history behind it. He carefully closed the box, set it inside the crate with the others, and sealed it once more.

A/N: _Cistem aperio_ was used in the movie version of _Chamber of Secrets_. It opens boxes and crates and was used by Tom Riddle to open the crate containing the young Aragog.

While there is a Charlus Potter and Dorea Black listed on the Black family tree that do match the specifications of James Potter's parents (had one son, albeit unnamed, at a later age), it's never been confirmed. Also, Dorea Black Potter died at the age of fifty-seven, where James' mother was alive and well during his later years of school. So, I decided to make full use of artistic license and give the Mr. and Mrs. Potter listed in the Harry Potter Wiki their own names. In case anyone wants to do the math, Roderick Potter was born in 1914 and Eleanor in 1918. They were 45 and 42, respectively, when James was born.


	13. Thin Veneer of Civility

Millie Collins, the Reserve Keeper, watched as Ginny folded herself to the bench in the changing room and began to patiently tease the tangles from her hair, starting from the ends, and working her way up to the top of her head. It was a time-consuming process, to say the least. Milie ran her hands through her damp, cropped hair to settle it into place. 'Ever thought of cutting it?'

Ginny sighed and set the comb down before pulling her hair over one shoulder to plait it. 'No,' she replied shortly. It was a question that had been asked at least once a day since they'd left Britain. Her fingers swiftly wove the strands in the familiar pattern and she bound the end of the plait with an elastic. Admittedly, it would be much easier if she did just hack it off and be done with it, but something held her back each time. Ginny preferred not to think about the last time she had a significant length of her hair cut, and letting it grow nearly to her waist was her way of giving a rude gesture to the memory of Tom Riddle each time she went through the laborious task of washing, brushing, and otherwise styling it. She knew Gwenog wasn't fond of her players having such long hair, but Ginny refused to budge. Years of practice had given her the skill to plait it tightly to her head, and training as a witch had taught her dozens of small ways to keep it from unraveling in the high speeds of broom travel or flying out behind her and giving an opponent a convenient rope to grab and yank Ginny off course. It was a dirty play, to be sure, but a Chaser in Slytherin hadn't been above using during Ginny's early career on the Gryffindor team.

And Harry loved her hair.

That was quite enough of a reason to keep it as it was just now. Perhaps someday, she might consider cutting her hair, but not right now.

'So how do you know Krum?' Lauren Allison, one of the Reserve Beaters asked.

Ginny picked up the bottle of water she'd left on the floor and took a long sip. 'I don't really,' he told her. 'I was in my third year when he was at Hogwarts for the Triwizard Tournament.' She shrugged. 'We didn't talk much. He was more interested in following my friend Hermione around.' She bundled her damp towels together and tossed them into the basket in the corner. 'The last time I saw him was at Bill's wedding two years ago.'

Julia Adams, the second Reserve Beater, joined Ginny on the bench. 'Your set-down is becoming legendary,' she said admiringly. 'Bat-Bogey, was it?'

'Yeah.'

'It's about time someone emphatically turned him down,' Mandy Seaforth, the starting Beater, noted sardonically. 'Keep hearing him go on in pubs about how he's a bloody famous international Quidditch player, and that ought to be enough for women to throw themselves at him.'

Matilda Daniels, the starting Seeker, rubbed her dripping hair with a towel. 'I'd throw myself at him, but he's never even thrown me bone,' she sighed.

Mandy flicked her on the ear. 'Oh, for Merlin's sake,' she huffed. 'Could you please not behave like the stereotypical female player for once?' She glanced at Ginny apologetically. 'We're not all randy bints,' she said.

Matilda rubbed her ear and scowled at Mandy. 'Randy, yes. Bint…? That's one up for discussion,' she said loftily. 'Besides, a girl's got needs,' she stated. 'And it's been months…'

Millie pursed her lips thoughtfully. 'Who was the last one? That bloke in the pub after the Caerphilly match last October?'

Anna Horton, one of the Chasers chimed in. 'And a Muggle to boot. Not that there's anything wrong with that,' she said hastily. 'It's not a bad thing to date Muggles. They haven't the foggiest idea who you are.' She sank to a bench and rubbed a towel over her hair. 'It's nice, actually.'

'Lots easier if you don't live in a mostly magical area,' Matilda noted. 'It's only if you're planning to have a shag with a Muggle, you've got to do a few things to your flat. Freezing charms on your photographs, block your Floo for the evening – if you're on the network, that is. Or you go to _his_ flat.' She glanced at Ginny. 'Most blokes don't bother with a good cleaning. It's disgusting.'

Anna nodded in agreement. 'Especially if they don't know what a laundry basket look like, haven't changed their sheets in ages, and the bathroom is worse than a public loo.' She tilted her head to one side, combing her fingers through her dark blonde hair. 'But there aren't many like that.'

Millie chuckled and pulled a jumper over her head. 'That happened to me once. I didn't bother to stay. Or shag. I suddenly "remembered" I had something to attend to early in the morning and left straightaway.'

Ginny felt her cheeks burn. 'How can you just take someone home with you like that?' she asked curiously. 'Without feeling anything for them?'

Matilda shrugged expansively. 'It's not like we do it all the time.' She finished buttoning her shirt and pulled a pair of jeans from the locker and sat back down on the bench, clad only in her shirt and knickers. 'I think I've only taken home someone I've just met once or twice. I wasn't drunk, and neither was he. We both did it with the understanding it would be that one night and that was it. Just needed to blow off some steam, is all.' She poked her feet into the jeans and yanked them over her legs and hips. 'The life of a professional Quidditch player doesn't lend itself to long-term relationships.'

Lauren bent to tie the laces of her trainers, eying Ginny appraisingly. 'Aren't you dating Harry Potter?'

'Erm, yeah,' Ginny replied, slipping into her khaki trousers. 'About a year.' She bit her lip as she leaned forward and removed her socks from her locker, recalling the day Harry had moved into his flat, and his attempt to initiate something more that mere kissing and cuddling. She'd been more than a little startled to feel his hand slip between her thighs. Afterward, when she'd had more time to think about the matter, she realized she did want to do more, as evidenced by her behavior the couple of days she'd stayed with Harry after the trial.

Claire Russell, one of the other Reserve Chasers, grinned dreamily at Ginny. 'He looks like he'd be great in bed.' She gazed into the distance. 'So intense.'

Ginny felt her cheeks burn painfully. 'Ah…'

Julia's eyes narrowed. 'You're still a V?' she blurted.

Ginny's shoulders stiffened defensively. 'So?' she challenged. 'Is there something wrong with being a virgin?'

Julia held her hands up, as if to ward off Ginny's ire. 'Nothing at all,' she placated. 'It's just you've been seen together. Not in a compromising position.' Her lips pressed together. 'Just after the trials, a blurb was in the gossip column of _Witch Weekly_. Someone had seen the two of you just before you Disapparated together one morning. They said it looked like you were going to rip each other's clothes off as soon as you were able.'

Ginny's head fell forward and she buried her face in both hands. 'Oh, bloody hell. My _mother_ reads _Witch Weekly_.'

Marion coughed loudly. 'Could we please change the subject?' She yanked her bag from her locker.

'It's just girl talk, Marion,' Samantha Hughes, the starting Seeker retorted mildly.

'Uh-huh,' Marion grunted. 'Let's go. We're going to be late for dinner.' She strode toward the door and walked out without a backward glance. The others scrambled to finish dressing or gathering their things, and scurried after her. After all, it had been a long hard day on the pitch, and dinner pushed all other thoughts aside.

XxXxXxX

The pub was noisy and crowded. Ginny didn't care for alcoholic beverages, aside from an occasional glass of wine or champagne during celebrations or special dinners. She nursed a ginger beer and all but ignored the other players' conversations. 'How do you now when you're ready?' Ginny interjected.

'What?' Lauren, the closest player to her turned to face Ginny with a blank look on her face.

Ginny passed a hand over her eyes, mortified. 'How do you know when you're ready for…' She gulped. 'Sex.'

Lauren rapped the table to get the others' attention. 'Oi! One of our newest members has a question!' She tilted her head at Ginny. 'Go on, then,' she whispered encouragingly. When Ginny visibly hesitated, Lauren added. 'Look, nobody else in the pub is paying attention, and I promise you, we won't breathe a word to anyone.' She gave Ginny a searching look. 'I won't say you _have_ to trust us, but if you can't trust us off the pitch, how can you on it?'

Ginny inhaled slowly and lifted her glass to her mouth. She drained it and replaced it on the table with a _thump_. 'I just wanted to know how you know when you're ready for…' She paused significantly. 'You know…' she added, unwilling to say more in the pub.

Julia studied Ginny thoughtfully. 'I suppose the pat answer is, if you have to ask, you're not ready.'

Anna leaned forward across the table. 'If you're questioning why you want to go to bed with a man – certain green-eyed wizards or otherwise – you shouldn't do it.' She tapped the table with a forefinger for emphasis. 'If you're not sure you want to do it, then don't.' Her eyes narrowed. 'You talk to someone else first. That sister-in-law of yours, the French girl.' Ginny's brow rose at the idea of going to Fleur for advice about anything. Not that she didn't respect the Frenchwoman, but Ginny wasn't entirely certain it would stay a secret. 'Or someone else you admire. Friend, or even one of us.'

'Actually,' Millie said slowly. 'You _should_ question it. Are you just trying to scratch an itch, or is it a physical progression of a romantic relationship?' She took a sip of her fruity drink, and toyed with the paper umbrella. 'It's one thing to just shag another person, as long as there's an understanding that's all it is. But when there are emotions involved, it can get complicated. And that's not necessarily a bad thing, it's just sex changes things.' She slowly opened and closed the paper umbrella. 'If _you're_ just trying to relieve, ah, tension, and _he's_ looking to make it part of the relationship, the two of you ought to sit and have a chat.'

Samantha frowned. 'Have you ever dated anyone else besides Harry?'

Ginny nodded. 'Two boys at Hogwarts.'

'And?' Samantha prodded.

Ginny shrugged. 'Oh. Well. Michael was nice enough. But we had an awful row when Gryffindor beat Ravenclaw my fourth year. And when he kissed me…' Ginny's nose crinkled as she search for the appropriate words.

'Didn't make your toes curl,' supplied Anna, with a laugh.

'Exactly,' Ginny sighed. 'Then, I dated Dean. Again, lovely boy. Gryffindor. Wonderful artist. He also has two younger sisters, and always seemed to want to look out for me, like he does for them.'

'That's not a bad thing,' Julia observed.

'Well, no,' Ginny allowed. 'Once in a while is fine, but not all the time. It felt like he didn't think I could do anything physically without help of some sort. He _hovered_,' she said with an air of mild disgust. 'Even after that incident at the Ministry my fourth year.'

'It felt like he didn't respect you,' noted Lauren, nodding sagely.

Ginny sighed a bit morosely. 'Yeah… I mean, my brothers were not going to wait up for me. I had to learn to keep up or get left behind.'

Matilda signaled for another round for the table. 'And Harry?'

'We've had our moments,' Ginny said quietly. 'But he's… willing to listen to my side and work something out.' She took a sip of her drink and slowly spun the glass in wide circles. 'I mooned after him quite a bit when I first started school, then found the real Harry was much more interesting than the one I'd dreamed up in my head,' she found herself admitting. 'And after a couple of years, I thought it was best to be realistic and face up to the face he just saw me as his best friend's baby sister.' She exhaled in a long breath and suddenly smiled brightly. 'That was the smartest decision I made regarding Harry. Especially during my fourth year, when he and I became friends.' Ginny suddenly realized how much she'd said and bit her lip in a fit of shyness. 'Erm, thanks,' she stammered, burying her nose in her glass.

Matilda burst into peals of laughter. 'No worries, little one. It's hard enough to talk about things like this with my own sister. I can't imagine going to my mum with this.' She shuddered dramatically, making Ginny snort with laughter.

'If it's anything like when my dad had a bit of a chat with my brother Ron,' Ginny muttered. 'Ron said it was beyond awkward.'

Anna groaned. 'Trust me. It was. I thought at one point my mum was going to tell me to close my eyes and think of England.'

'Something to look forward to,' Ginny sighed, shaking her head. She glanced at her watch and let out a muffled yelp. 'Bloody hell, is that the time?' It was well after eleven, and while Gwenog didn't have a team curfew, it as understood she expected them to at least be in their rooms before eleven at night. There was a mad scramble as the team settled their tab for the evening and hurried down the street to their hotel. The few times on their trip they'd attempted to test Gwenog's boundaries, she had exploited it at practice the next day. The unspoken message was: if they wanted to behave foolishly, then they would suffer the consequences for it.

Ginny tiptoed up the stairs and down the corridor to the room she shared with Marion and fumbled in her bag for the heavy key that would unlock the door. Neither Marion, nor Helen had gone out with them after dinner, and Ginny fully expected Marion to be fast asleep. Ginny eased the key into the lock and cautiously turned it. Keeping the key in her left hand, Ginny painstakingly twisted the doorknob and opened door just wide enough so she could slip inside. She took just as much care in closing the door and turned fully into the sitting area of the suite. Marion and Helen were entwined in a position that Ginny would not have found unfamiliar, had she been with Harry. The key slid from her nerveless fingers and fell to the uncarpeted wooden floor with a loud _thud_. Helen and Marion sprang to their feet at the intrusion, smoothing disordered hair and straightening clothing gone awry. 'Damn,' Helen breathed, complexion fading to a sickly hue. 'Don't say a word!' she barked.

Ginny stooped to pick up her key, tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. She nervously shifted from foot to foot. It didn't bother her in the slightest to find her mentor in the arms of another woman. She was more distressed to have interrupted them in so intimate a moment. 'I'm sorry,' she babbled, edging toward her bedroom. 'I didn't know you… I'll just go to bed…'

Marion held out a hand. 'Ginny. Wait.' She motioned to the armchair across from the sofa and said, 'We're not angry.' She elbowed Helen, who nodded in agreement. 'Please. Sit…' Ginny padded to the armchair and perched on the edge of the cushion, the key still clutched in her hand. Marion looked positively miserable as she regarded her young teammate. 'Helen and I have been together for a couple of years, but it's a secret.'

Helen rubbed her hand over her closely cropped hair and studied Ginny. 'It's only because Gwenog would make one of use leave the team,' she stated. 'Neither of us wants to go to another team.'

'She thinks having relationships amongst the team is a detriment to the cohesion of the team,' Marion sighed. 'In case the relationship were to go sour,' she explained. 'It's not normally an issue. Helen and I have a flat in Monmouth, and Gwenog thinks we just share it.'

Helen snorted. 'Really? You think she doesn't know?'

Marion tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear. 'Not really,' she conceded. 'But if she doesn't ask us outright, we don't have to lie to her, do we?'

Helen sent a stern glance to Ginny. 'So officially, we're not together.' Her face softened. 'It's a lot to ask of you.'

'No, it's all right,' Ginny interrupted quickly. Keeping their secret wouldn't be terribly difficult. After all, Ginny had her own secrets she'd successfully kept for years. 'I really am sorry I interrupted you.' A dull ache in her hand made her glance down. She found she still gripped the key tightly in her hand. Ginny forced herself to uncurl her fingers and tuck the key into her bag. 'I'll just go to bed,' she said. 'Good night.' She stood and started to make the short walk to her room.

'Ginny.' Marion's quiet voice halted her progress. Ginny turned to see the older woman's face creased with worry, hands folded in front of her body. 'If you'd like to change rooms for the remainder of the trip…' Marion trailed off, swallowing hard, as if to prevent the idea from forming words. 'I do understand.'

'What?' Ginny shook her head. 'Why would I do that?'

Marion exchanged a glance with Helen. 'It doesn't bother you?' she ventured.

Ginny shook her head. 'No.' She recalled the two Ravenclaw girls that were rumored to be a couple and Luna's typical response to it. _It shouldn't matter, really_, Luna had opined one afternoon in the library. _Physical attraction is but a small part of love. And their love for one another doesn't diminish your love for Harry._ They weren't the only ones Ginny knew who preferred their own gender. Blaise Zabini, for one. Kenneth Towler from Fred and George's year. Not to mention the revelations about Dumbledore, had anyone bothered to read between the lines of Rita Skeeter's biography. 'See you in the morning,' she added, and went into her room, closing the door behind her.

Helen and Marion sagged against the sofa cushions. 'Do you think she'll be able to keep it quiet?' Helen asked, nibbling her thumbnail.

Marion gazed at Ginny's door. Something told her the girl had her own story she'd rather not tell, given the way Ginny had reacted that first morning in Sweden. 'I do, yes.'

XxXxXxX

Harry's working life in the Ministry had settled into a pleasant sort of routine. He had spent some considerable time in the spring preparing to question the Death Eaters who had managed to avoid a lengthy sentence in Azkaban, as well as the mandatory semiannual trip to Azkaban to ensure the imprisoned Death Eaters weren't being mistreated. Of course there was the paperwork. Scrolls and scrolls of paperwork, taking care to make multiple copies of each report and file he completed. He took his turns in keeping surveillance on the few from Voldemort's side who hadn't ended up in prison. Avoiding direct conversation with the Auror Head was another ongoing task on Harry's list. He joined the trainees for a few classes – mostly a twice-a-week potions lesson and dropped by once a week or so to fill in the gaps of his charms and transfiguration repertoire. At first, he had thought the trainees might look down on him for needing the lessons, but to his muted delight, it was quite the contrary. He had unwittingly managed to earn their respect for being willing to admit he needed the classes and hadn't asked for special treatment.

In other words, by behaving as any other Auror-in-training.

So far, this particular morning had gone smoothly.

That is, until a small purple aeroplane landed on his desk. Harry didn't unfold it right away. If it had been urgent, the aeroplane would have butted him in the head until he did read it. Harry completed his current task and laid it aside. He left to meet Ron at the shop for lunch, and returned to his desk exactly an hour after he'd left it. Only then did he pick up the purple parchment and unfold the aeroplane.

_Harry –_

_ Please come to my office at three. Something has come up that you and I need to discuss._

It was signed with a simple K.

Harry felt the blood drain from his face, while is stomach simultaneously clenched into a vicious knot. His mouth suddenly went dry and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. If he hadn't already been sitting down, Harry thought his knees might have buckled. Harry couldn't imagine what Kingsley might want to "discuss". His eyes closed tightly as he reviewed the past few weeks, drawing a blank as to what he had done that needed such urgent attention. Furthermore, it was highly irregular. Any issues within the Auror department were handled in hierarchy: an Auror's direct supervisor – in Harry's case it would be Peter Wilson, his supervisor; if the situation escalated, then it would go to the Head; then finally the Minister, if necessary. Harry spent the next two hours pretending to work, all the while wondering just what he had done that was so awful that it required them to skip two levels of discipline.

Ten minutes before three, Harry stiffly stood and stumbled from his cubicle to the lifts. He darted into the first one that arrived and numbly pressed the button for Level One, annoyed to see his hand shaking. He opened the outer door of the Minister's office and peered around the edge. Percy glanced up distractedly from his own work and motioned for Harry to come in. 'He's expecting you,' Percy mumbled, sorting through a large pile of correspondence.

'Thanks…' Harry responded in a bare murmur. He opened the door that led to Kinglsey's office and slipped through the smallest gap possible. Kingsley sat behind his massive desk, looking pensive. He said nothing, but made a gesture that Harry took to mean he ought to sit in one of the chairs on the other side of the desk, and quickly dropped to the edge of the nearest one. 'Sir?' he asked tentatively. Kingsley still said nothing, but let a thick book fall to the top of the desk and pushed it across to Harry. It was the extremely unauthorized biography Rita Skeeter had written about him. Harry had received an advance copy in the spring, managing to skim through most of it, before he'd hurled it at the wall in mingled disgust and outrage. 'Yeah, I've seen it,' Harry said dully. 'So?'

Kingsley rubbed his chin, then folded his hands together in front of him. 'She makes some remarkable insinuations,' he commented. 'Most of which we can discount, except the allegation that you used an Unforgiveable to facilitate breaking into Gringotts.' He paused before spearing Harry with a severe look. 'Did you?'

XxXxXxX

Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat clustered around a table in a pub near Harry's flat. 'What are they going to do?' Ron asked wearily.

Harry shook his head. 'I don't know. Kingsley was being a bit cagey about it all. He said the only reason they were looking into this is because of the allegations Skeeter made in her book about me. The Ministry's been getting a load of irate letters for weeks about me and my suitability to remain in the Ministry's employ. Kingsley and Percy thought it would die down after a week or two, and something else would catch their attentions.' He drew patterns on the scuffed table in a puddle of spilled ale with a forefinger. 'Needless to say, that hasn't happened.'

Hermione looked worried. 'But Harry,' she began, 'you _did_ do what she says you did.'

'I know,' Harry said flatly. 'I could go to prison. Lose my wand.' His fingers stole to his right sleeve and flattened protectively over his hidden, holstered wand.

'Well, that's not going to happen,' Hermione said crisply. 'There were extenuating circumstances.'

'Hermione's right,' Ron offered, looking up from the table. 'Not like you were doing it for personal gain, innit?'

'No.' Harry slouched further into his chair. 'I just want to know how does _she_ know?'

'Oh honestly, Harry,' Hermione huffed. 'It's Rita Skeeter. She has a penchant for dubious sources and an uncanny ability to make lurid deductions. How else would one break into Gringotts? She already thinks the worst of you, so she's not only going to imply that you're mad enough to use those curses, but that you also liked doing it.' She took a swallow of her drink. 'I read the book,' she told Harry. 'Most of it's outright lies, but she skirts the law by making it mere speculation. Besides, it's somewhat common knowledge that we were seen with that poor dragon immediately after the break-in. And the Wizengamot knows you've used an Unforgiveable as it is. She gets an anonymous Wizengamot member to confirm you're capable to using an Unforgiveable and puts two and two together, but can't verify you did it at that moment.' Hermione took another sip of her drink. 'It's quite clever actually. Too bad she's such a rabid cow.'

'Glad I'm not famous enough for her to bother with me,' Ron joked weakly.

'Just wait,' Harry muttered darkly. 'I wish there was someone who could advise me,' he said wistfully. 'Not that the two of you are hopeless, but I think I need someone with a bit more experience dealing with the Ministry.'

'Dad?' ventured Ron. 'Or Percy?'

Harry considered each one, and rejected them on the basis that he wanted to involve as few family members as possible. Not to mention Percy was already involved, and if he were caught advising Harry, it might drag his career into this maelstrom. 'No…'

Hermione chewed a hangnail. 'Harry,' she muttered around her middle finger. 'Didn't Professor McGonagall vouch for you after the war at the hearings?'

'Yeah.'

Hermione gazed at Harry with the air of one who faintly pitied someone else for not being able to come up with the correct answer. 'Why not talk to her?'

Harry drained his pint and stared at the empty glass. 'I'll send an owl in the morning.' He ran a hand through his hair and gazed unhappily at his friends. 'This affects the two of you, you know,' he said quietly.

'What? Why?' Ron yelped. Hermione shushed him with a scowl. 'I mean, oh. All right.'

'They consider us accessories, don't they?' Hermione said wryly. 'We were there, we did nothing to stop you, we were actively taking part in the break-in. So ridiculous.'

Alarmed, Harry shook his head vigorously. 'No, I won't let that happen. I'll tell them you didn't know I did it.'

Ron's fingers dipped into a packet of crisps and he shoved it into his mouth, crunching loudly. 'I don't think so, mate,' he said.

Bemused, Harry turned to look at Ron. 'What do you mean?'

Ron's other hand curled around Hermione's. 'If it comes to appearing before the Wizengamot, we'll do it together,' he stated, with only a glimmer of fear in his eyes. 'We did it together, we'll answer for it together.'

Hermione's lips curved in a smile. 'Like always.'

XxXxXxX

Harry sat on the edge of the proffered chair. 'Ginger newt?' McGonagall asked, extending the tartan tin. Harry took one and dunked it into his tea. 'So, Potter, why are you here?'

Harry hunched miserably in the chair. 'I needed some advice, Professor.' He bit off the head of the newt-shaped biscuit and chewed morosely. 'I'm to be investigated,' he told her. 'For using an Unforgiveable.'

McGonagall's thin brows drew together. 'Nonsense. I thought that was taken care of after the war. Need I remind you that you weren't the only one that used one of those in the battle?'

'No,' Harry replied in a small voice, feeling like a first year. 'This accusation is from before that. When we broke into the Lestrange vault.'

McGonagall sipped her tea, examining Harry over the rim of the cup. 'And why is this just coming up now?'

'Rita Skeeter.'

'Why can't that woman keep her nose out of other people's business, I ask you?' huffed McGonagall. 'Bothersome twit.' She fixed Harry with a beady eye. 'Did you do it?'

'To get into the vault, yes. But we had to, Professor!' Harry said in a rush. 'We had to have something in there to defeat Voldemort.' He set his tea on the edge of McGonagall's desk.

'This is the last time you'll admit to doing so,' McGonagall ordered sternly.

Harry was shocked into silence. 'You want me to lie?' he managed to splutter.

'No, Potter, I do not want you to lie. If I might make a suggestion?'

Harry nodded. 'Yeah.'

'The battle didn't start the second you set foot on Hogwarts' grounds. If you inform the Minister that it happened as part of the battle, I'm sure he'll consider the matter closed. And I advise you to do so, lad. There are plenty in the Wizengamot who aren't very pleased with you for speaking on the Malfoys' behalf. And the rest have convinced themselves that you're in a position over your head with the Aurors.' McGonagall took a long sip of tea. 'I assume Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger were with you at the time?'

'Of course.'

'Then I don't think either of them are going to reveal your secret.'

Harry shifted uneasily in the large chair. 'I dunno,' he muttered doubtfully. 'Not about Ron and Hermione,' he hastily added. 'But I can't say I'm comfortable stretching the truth so thin someone's liable to punch holes in it, yeah?'

McGonagall picked up a small, framed photograph Harry had never noticed in her office when she was the Transfiguration professor. A very young-looking Minerva McGonagall – possibly not much older than Harry himself – sat at a table littered with empty glasses, surrounded by four young men, who had the brash smiles most British associated with Yanks. They were all dressed in what looked to Harry like Army uniforms, but he couldn't be sure. She set the photograph down with a suppressed sigh. 'There are times, lad, where you have to do something that teases the line of ethical because it's a means to an end. In wartime, especially, you'll find yourself taking a course of action that's diametrically opposed to what you would do as a civilian. You bend rules to the point of breaking them. You have to refuse to help a treasured colleague, strictly because doing so would divert valuable resources from the larger goal.' Harry glanced curiously at the photograph, wondering just how much experience McGonagall had with armed conflict, Muggle or magical. She lifted her teacup to her lips. 'Did you particularly _enjoy_ using those curses during the war?'

Harry squeezed his hands together. 'Just the one time,' he confessed. 'When that bastard spat on you…'

'War doesn't lend itself to making particularly ethical or moral decisions one hundred percent of the time,' McGonagall commented. 'Sometimes you have to make them for the greater good.'

'I never want to hear that phrase again!' Harry exclaimed bitterly.

'Neither do I, lad,' McGonagall told him softly. 'And if I never hear it again, I shall be a very happy witch indeed,' she added tartly, with a sidelong glance at the photograph. 'It's abused far too often.' The last was said in a tone that made Harry sit up a bit straighter and peer closely at his former teacher. In the best of times, McGonagall could present a façade as bland as porridge when she so desired. Nothing seemed to ruffle her. For a brief moment, Harry saw the surface of McGonagall's exterior tranquility ripple, as if the last statement were a rock thrown into a still pond. Burning with curiosity, but reluctant to pry, Harry merely resumed nibbling the ginger newt. McGonagall adjusted her glasses and fixed Harry with a typically stern glare. 'And you should know by now, lad, the world isn't colored in black and white. The ability to see it in shades of grey makes you stop and think about what you're doing.' She began to take a sip of her tea, but stopped with the cup halfway to her lips. 'These things have a way of working out in the end. You'll see.'


End file.
